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INNS  AND  TAVERNS  OF  OLD  LONDON 


^  >  ■> 


•  3 


5  J 


C  i        t 


of  ©to  Conlron 

SETTING  FORTH  THE  HISTORICAL  AND  LITER- 
ARY ASSOCIATIONS  OF  THOSE  ANCIENT  HOS- 
TELRIES,  TOGETHER  WITH  AN  ACCOUNT  OF 
THE  MOST  NOTABLE  COFFEE-HOUSES,  CLUBS, 
AND  PLEASURE  GARDENS  OF  THE  BRITISH 
METROPOLIS 

BY 

HENRY    C.  SHELLEY 

Author  of  "Untrodden  English  Ways,"  etc. 
Illustrated 


LONDON 
SIR   ISAAC   PITMAN  &   SONS,  Ltd.    c^ 
MDCCCCIX 


^mii 


^^ 


vh 


■'J 


Copyright,  1909, 

Bt  L.  C.  Page  &  Company 
(incorporated) 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reserved 


\r 


First  Impression,  October,  1909 


Eleetrotyped  and  Printed  by 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
V.  II.  Simotuls  d  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 


For  all  races  of  Teutonic  origin  the  claim  is 
made    that    they    are    essentially   home-loving 
people.     Yet  the  Englishman  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  espe- 
cially of  the  latter,  is  seen  to  have  exercised 
considerable   zeal   in  creating   substitutes   for 
that  home  which,  as  a  Teuton,  he  ought  to  have 
loved  above  all  else.     This,  at  any  rate,  was 
emphatically  the  case  with  the  Londoner,  as  the 
following  pages  will  testify.    When  he  had  per- 
fected his  taverns  and  inns,  perfected  them, 
that  is,  according  to  the  light  of  the  olden  time, 
he  set  to  work  evolving  a  new  species  of  public 
resort  in  the  coffee-house.    That  type  of  estab- 
lishment appears  to  have  been  responsible  for 
the  development  of  the  club,  another  substitute 
for  the  home.    And  then  came  the  age  of  the 
pleasure-garden.     Both  the  latter  survive,  the 
one  in  a  form  of  a  more  rigid  exclusiveness 
than  the  eighteenth  century  Londoner  would 
have  deemed  possible ;   the  other  in  so  changed 


298837 


vi  Preface 

a  guise  that  frequenters  of  the  prototype  would 
scarcely  recognize  the  relationship.  But  the 
coffee-house  and  the  inn  and  tavern  of  old 
London  exist  but  as  a  picturesque  memory 
which  these  pages  attempt  to  revive. 

Naturally  much  delving  among  records  of 
the  past  has  gone  to  the  making  of  this  book. 
To  enumerate  all  the  sources  of  information 
which  have  been  laid  under  contribution  would 
be  a  tedious  task  and  need  not  be  attempted, 
but  it  would  be  ungrateful  to  omit  thankful  ac- 
knowledgment to  Henry  B.  Wheatley's  ex- 
haustive edition  of  Peter  Cunningham's 
**  Handbook  of  London/'  and  to  Warwick 
"Wroth 's  admirable  volume  on  ''  The  London 
Pleasure  Gardens  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.'' 
Many  of  the  illustrations  have  been  specially 
photographed  from  rare  engravings  in  the 
Print  Room  of  the  British  Museum. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

Preface     v 

I.   INNS  AND  TAVERNS  OF  OLD  LONDON 

I.  Famous  Southwark  Inns 1 

II.  Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's  .   .  30 

III.  Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  and  Thereabouts  62 

IV.  Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar    .   .   .102 
V.  Inns  and  Taverns  Further  Afield    .   .136 

II.      coffee-houses   of   old   LONDON 

I.    Coffee-houses  on  'Change  and  Near-by       .  163 

II.    Round  St.  Paul's 185 

III.  The  Strand  and  Covent  Garden      .       .       .  200 

IV.  Further  West 222 

III.      THE    CLUBS   OF   OLD   LONDON 

I.    Literary           243 

II.    Social  and  Gaming 267 

IV.   PLEASURE  gardens  OF  OLD  LONDON 

I.    Vauxhall          .       . 291 

II.     Ranelagh 312 

III.     Other  Favourite  Resorts 335 

Index 357 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


-♦ 

PAGE 


King's  Head  Tavern,  Fleet  Stoeet         .        .      Frontispiece 

Geoffrey  Chaucer ^ 

Tabard  Inn,  Southwark,  in  1810      ...       -       -       12 
Bridge-foot,  Southwark,  Showing  the    Bear  Inn   in 

Courtyard"  OF  JBoar's  Head  Inn,  Southwark       .       .       22 

24 
George  Inn       

White  Hart  Inn,  Southwark ^^ 

Oliver  Goldsmith 

Cock  Inn,  Leadenhall  Street ■*" 

Paul  Pindar  Tavern ^    -       -       ^^ 

Ancient  View  of  Cheapside,  Showing  the  Nag's  Head 

Inn       .       .       - -       -       - 

A  French  Ordinary  in  London ^^ 

Yard  of  Belle  Sauvage  Inn 

The  Cheshire  Cheese  —  Entrance  from  Fleet  Street      79 

The  Cheshire  Cheese  —  The  Johnson  Room         -       -       80 

90 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 

Tablet  and  Bust  from  the  Devil  Tavern    *       *       "       ^ 

Ben  Jonson .„^ 

Feathers  Tavern    

Adam  and  Eve  Tavern u      ' 

A  Trial  before  the  Pie-Powder  Court  at  the  Hand 

AND  Shears  Tavern        .       -       -       -       -       •       '     -,rQ 

Falcon  Tavern,  Bankside ^ 

Garraway's  Coffee-House 

Mad  Dog  in  a  Coffee-House 

Tom's  Coffee-House ^^^ 

Lloyd's  Coffee-House 

ix 


List  of  Illustrations 


PAGE 

« 

Grecian  Coffee-House 202 

John  Dryden 210 

Joseph  Addison 215 

Sir  Richard  Steele 217 

Lion's  Head  at  Button's  Coffee-House         .       .       .  218 

British  Coffee-House 223 

Slaughter's  Coffee-House 225 

Old  Palace  Yard,  Westminster 234 

Don  Saltero's  Coffee-House 238 

St.  James's    Street,  Showing   White's    on    the    Left 

AND  Brooks's  on  the  Right 268 

The  Brilliants 274 

"  Promised  Horrors  of  the  French  Invasion  "  .       -  276 

Gambling  Saloon  at  Brooks's  Club         ....  279 

Tickets  for  Vauxhall 296 

Entrance  to  Vauxhall        .       .       .       ...       .       .  300 

The  Citizen  at  Vauxhall 302 

Scene  at  Vauxhall 308 

Venetian  Masquerade  at  Ranelagh,  1749     .       .       .  318 

The  Assault  on  Dr.  John  Hill  at  Ranelagh      .       .  327 

Marylebone  Gardens            340 

White  Conduit  House .  342 

Bagnigge  Wells 348 

Finch's  Grotto,  Southwark 354 


INNS  AND  TAVERNS 
OF  OLD  LONDON 


OHAPTER   I 

FAMOUS   SOUTHWARK   INNS 

Unique  among  the  quaint  maps  of  old  Lon- 
don is  one  which  traces  the  ground-plan  of 
Southwark  as  it  appeared  early  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  It  is  not  the  kind  of  map  which  would 
ensure  examination  honours  for  its  author  were 
he  competing  among  schoolboys  of  the  twen- 
tieth century,  but  it  has  a  quality  of  archaic 
simplicity  which  makes  it  a  more  precious  pos- 
session than  the  best  examples  of  modern  car- 
tography. Drawn  on  the  principle  that  a  min- 
imum of  lines  and  a  maximum  of  description 
are  the  best  aid  to  the  imagination,  this  plan  of 
Southwark  indicates  the  main  routes  of  thor- 
oughfare with  a  few  bold  strokes,  and  then  fills 


^      Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


/  .  in  t3i&  blanks  Tvith  queer  little  drawings  of 
churches  aiid  inns,  the  former  depicted  in  de- 
lightfully distorted  perspective  and  the  latter 
by  two  or  three  half-circular  strokes.  That 
there  may  be  no  confusion  between  church  and 
inn,  the  possibility  of  which  is  suggested  by  the 
fact  that  several  of  the  latter  are  adorned  with 
spire-like  embellishments,  the  sixteenth-century 
cartographer  told  which  were  which  in  so  many 
words.  It  is  by  close  attention  to  the  letter- 
press, and  by  observing  the  frequent  appear- 
ance of  names  which  have  age-long  association 
with  houses  of  entertainment,  that  the  student 
of  this  map  awakens  to  the  conviction  that  an- 
cient Southwark  rejoiced  in  a  more  than  gener- 
ous provision  of  inns. 

Such  was  the  case  from  the  earliest  period 
of  which  there  is  any  record.  The  explanation 
is  simple.  The  name  of  the  borough  supplies 
the  clue.  Southwark  is  really  the  south-work 
of  London,  that  is,  the  southern  defence  or  for- 
tification of  the  city.  The  Thames  is  here  a 
moat  of  spacious  breadth  and  formidable 
depth,  yet  the  Romans  did  not  trust  to  that 
defence  alone,  but  threw  up  further  obstacles 
for  any  enemy  approaching  the  city  from  the 
south.  It  was  from  that  direction  assault  was 
most  likely  to  come.     From  the  western  and 


Famous  Southwark  Inns 


southern  counties  of  England,  and,  above  all, 
from  the  Continent,  this  was  the  high  road  into 
the  capital. 

All  this  had  a  natural  result  in  times  of 
peace.  As  London  Bridge  was  the  only  cause- 
way over  the  Thames,  and  as  the  High  street 
of  Southwark  was  the  southern  continuation  of 
that  causeway,  it  followed  that  diplomatic  vis- 
itors from  the  Continent  and  the  countless  tra- 
ders who  had  business  in  the  capital  were 
obliged  to  use  this  route  coming  and  going. 
The  logical  result  of  this  constant  traffic  is  seen 
in  the  countless  inns  of  the  district.  In  the 
great  majority  of  cases  those  visitors  who  had 
business  in  the  city  itself  during  the  day  elected 
to  make  their  headquarters  for  the  night  on 
the  southern  shore  of  the  Thames. 

Although  no  definite  evidence  is  available,  it 
is  reasonable  to  conclude  that  the  most  ancient 
inns  of  Southwark  were  established  at  least  as 
early  as  the  most  ancient  hostelries  of  the  city 
itself.  To  which,  however,  the  prize  of  senior- 
ity is  to  be  awarded  can  never  be  known.  Yet 
on  one  matter  there  can  be  no  dispute.  Pride 
of  place  among  the  inns  of  Southwark  belongs 
unquestionably  to  the  Tabard.  Not  that  it  is 
the  most  ancient,  or  has  played  the  most  con- 
spicuous part  in  the  social  or  political  life  of 


Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


the  borougli,  but  because  the  hand  of  the  poet 
has  lifted  it  from  the  reahn  of  the  actual  and 
given  it  an  enduring  niche  in  the  world  of 
imagination. 

No  evidence  is  available  to  establish  the 
actual  date  when  the  Tabard  was  built;  Stow 
speaks  of  it  as  among  the  ''  most  ancient  "  of 
the  locality;  but  the  nearest  approach  to  defi- 
nite dating  assigns  the  inn  to  the  early  four- 
teenth century.  One  antiquary  indeed  fixes  the 
earliest  distinct  record  of  the  site  of  the  inn  in 
1304,  soon  after  which  the  Abbot  of  Hyde, 
whose  abbey  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Win- 
chester, here  built  himself  a  town  mansion  and 
probably  at  the  same  time  a  hostelry  for  trav- 
ellers. Three  years  later  the  Abbot  secured  a 
license  to  erect  a  chapel  close  by  the  inn.  It 
seems  likely,  then,  that  the  Tabard  had  its 
origin  as  an  adjunct  of  the  town  house  of  a 
Hampshire  ecclesiastic. 

But  in  the  early  history  of  the  hostelry  no 
fact  stands  out  so  clearly  as  that  it  was  chosen 
by  Chaucer  as  the  starting-point  for  his  im- 
mortal Canterbury  pilgrims.  More  than  two 
centuries  had  passed  since  Thomas  a  Becket 
had  fallen  before  the  altar  of  St.  Benedict  in 
the  minster  of  Canterbury,  pierced  with  many 


Famous  Southwark  Inns 


swords  as  his  reward  for  contesting  the  su- 
premacy of  the  Church  against  Henry  II. 

^^  What  a  parcel  of  fools  and  dastards  have 
I  nourished  in  my  house/ ^  cried  the  monarch 
when  the  struggle  had  reached  an  acute  stage, 
*^  that  not  one  of  them  will  avenge  me  of  this 
one  upstart  clerk!  '* 

Four  knights  took  the  king  at  his  word, 
posted  with  all  speed  to  Canterbury,  and 
charged  the  prelate  to  give  way  to  the  wishes 
of  the  sovereign. 

^^  In  vain  you  threaten  me,'^  A  Becket  re- 
joined. *^  If  all  the  swords  in  England  were 
brandishing  over  my  head,  your  terrors  could 
not  move  me.  Foot  to  foot  you  will  find  me 
fighting  the  battle  of  the  Lord. ' ' 

And  then  the  swords  of  the  knights  flashed 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  minster  and  another 
name  was  added  to  the  Church's  roll  of  mar- 
tyrs. The  murder  sent  a  thrill  of  horror 
through  all  Christendom ;  A  Becket  was  speed- 
ily canonized,  and  his  tomb  became  the  objec- 
tive of  countless  pilgrims  from  every  comer  of 
the  Christian  world. 

In  Chaucer's  days,  some  two  centuries  later, 
the  pilgrimage  had  become  a  favourite  occupa- 
tion of  the  devout.     Each  awakening  of  the 


6       Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


year,  when  the  rains  of  April  had  laid  the  dust 
of  March  and  aroused  the  buds  of  tree  and 
herb  from  their  winter  slumber,  the  longing  to 
go  on  a  pilgrimage  seized  all  classes  alike. 

"  And  specially,  from  every  shires  ende 
Of  Engelond,  to  Caunterbury  they  wende. 
The  holy  blisful  martir  for  to  seke. 
That  hem  hath  holpen,  whan  that  they  were  seke/' 

Precisionists  of  the  type  who  are  never  satis- 
fied unless  they  can  apply  chronology  in  the 
realm  of  imagination  will  have  it  that  Chau- 
cer's pilgrimage  was  a  veritable  event,  and 
that  it  took  place  in  April,  1388.  They  go 
further  still  and  identify  Chaucer's  host  with 
the  actual  Henry  Bailley,  who  certainly  was  in 
possession  of  the  Tabard  in  years  not  remote 
from  that  date.  The  records  show  that  he 
twice  represented  the  borough  of  Southwark  in 
Parliament,  and  another  ancient  document 
bears  witness  how  he  and  his  wife.  Christian 
by  name,  were  called  upon  to  contribute  two 
shillings  to  the  subsidy  of  Eichard  II.  These 
are  the  dry  bones  of  history;  for  the  living 
picture  of  the  man  himself  recourse  must  be 
had  to  Chaucer's  verse : 


<( 


A  semely  man  our  hoste  was  with-alle 
For  to  han  been  a  marshal  in  an  halle; 


Famous  Southwark  Inns 


A  large  man  lie  was  with  eyen  stepe, 

A  fairer  burgeys  is  ther  noon  in  Chepe: 

Bold  of  his  speche,  and  wys,  and  well  y-tanght, 

And  of  manhood  him  lakkede  right  naught. 

Eke  thereto  he  was  right  a  merry  man." 

No  twentieth  century  pilgrim  to  the  Tabard 
inn  mnst  expect  to  find  its  environment  at  all 
in    harmony    with    the    picture    enshrined    m 
Chaucer's    verse.      The    passing    years    have 
wrought   a  woeful   and  materializing  change. 
The  opening  lines  of  the  Prologue  are  perme- 
ated with  a  sense  of  the  month  of  April,  a 
^^  breath    of    uncontaminate    springtide''    as 
Lowell  puts  it,  and  in  those  far-off  years  when 
the  poet  wrote,  the  beauties  of  the  awakenmg 
year  were  possible  of  enjoyment  in  Southwark. 
Then  the  buildings  of  the  High  street  were 
spaciously   placed,    with   room   for   field    and 
hedgerow;   to-day  they  are  huddled  as  closely 
together  as  the  hand  of  man  can  set  them,  and 
the  verdure   of  grass    and   tree   is   unknown. 
Nor  is  it  otherwise  with  the  inn  itself,  f or^  its 
modern  representative  has  no  points  of  like- 
ness to  establish  a  kinship  with  the  structure 
visualized  in  Chaucer's  lines.     It  is  true  the 
poet  describes  the  inn  more  by  suggestion  than 
set  delineation,  but  such  hints  that  it  was  ^'  a 
gentle  hostelry,"  that  its  rooms  and  stables 


8       Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

were  alike  spacious,  that  the  food  was  of  the 
best  and  the  wine  of  the  strongest  go  further 
with  the  imagination  than  concrete  state- 
ments. 

Giving  faith  for  the  moment  to  that  theory 
which  credits  the  Canterbury  Tales  with  being 
based  on  actual  experience,  and  recalling  the 
quaint  courtyard  of  the  inn  as  it  appeared  on 
that  distant  April  day  of  1388,  it  is  a  pleasant 
exercise  of  fancy  to  imagine  Chaucer  leaning 
over  the  rail  of  one  of  the  upper  galleries  to 
watch  the  assembling  of  his  nine-and-twenty 
**  sondry  folk.''  They  are,  as  J.  R.  Grreen  has 
said,  representatives  of  every  class  of  English 
society  from  the  noble  to  the  ploughman. 
**  We  see  the  *  verray  perfight  gentil  knight  ' 
in  cassock  and  coat  of  mail,  with  his  curly- 
headed  squire  beside  him,  fresh  as  the  May 
morning,  and  behind  them  the  brown-faced 
yeoman  in  his  coat  and  hood  of  green  with  a 
mighty  bow  in  his  hand.  A  group  of  ecclesias- 
tics light  up  for  us  the  mediaeval  church  —  the 
brawn}^  hunt-loving  monk,  whose  bridle  jingles 
as  loud  and  clear  as  the  chapel  bell  —  the 
wanton  friar,  first  among  the  beggars  and 
harpers  of  the  courtly  side  —  the  poor  parson, 
threadbare,  learned,  and  devout  (^  Christ's  lore 
and  his   apostles  twelve  he   taught,  and  first 


,,   J '  J   J    J    .. 

>  1       >       1     ■> 


5,5      ' 


GEOFFREY    CHAUCER. 


t  c 


Famous  Southwark  Inns 


9 


lie  followed  it  himself  ')  — the  summoner  with 
his  fiery  face  —  the  pardoner  with  his  wallet 
'  full  of  pardons,  come  from  Eome  all  hot  '  — 
the  lively  prioress  with  her  courtly  French  lisp, 
her  soft  little  red  mouth,  and  Amor  vincit 
omnia  graven  on  her  brooch.  Learning  is 
there  in  the  portly  person  of  the  doctor  of 
physics,  rich  with  the  profits  of  the  pestilence 
—  the  busy  sergeant-of-law,  *  that  ever  seemed 
busier  than  he  was  ^  —  the  hollow-cheeked  clerk 
of  Oxford  with  his  love  of  books  and  short 
sharp  sentences  that  disguise  a  latent  tender- 
ness which  breaks  out  at  last  in  the  story  of 
Griseldis.  Around  them  crowd  types  of  Eng- 
lish industry;  the  merchant;  the  franklin  in 
whose  house  ^  it  snowed  of  meat  and  drink  ' ; 
the  sailor  fresh  from  frays  in  the  Channel ;  the 
buxom  wife  of  Bath;  the  broad-shouldered 
miller;  the  haberdasher,  carpenter,  weaver, 
dyer,  tapestry-maker,  each  in  the  livery  of  his 
craft;  and  last  the  honest  ploughman  who 
would  dyke  and  delve  for  the  poor  without 
hire. ' ' 

Smilingly  as  Chaucer  may  have  gazed  upon 
this  goodly  company,  his  delight  at  their  ar- 
rival paled  before  the  radiant  pleasure  of  mine 
host,  for  a  poet  on  the  lookout  for  a  subject 
can  hardly  have  welcomed  the  advent  of  the 


10     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

pilgrims  with  sucli  an  interested  anticipation 
of  profit  as  the  innkeeper  whose  rooms  they 
were  to  occupy  and  whose  food  and  wines  they 
were  to  consume.  Henry  Bailley  was  equal  to 
the  auspicious  occasion. 

"  Greet  chere  made  our  hoste  us  everichon, 
And  to  the  soper  sette  lie  us  anon ; 
And  served  us  with  vitaille  at  the  beste. 
Strong  was  the  wyn,  and  wel  to  drinke  us  leste.'' 

But  the  host  of  the  Tabard  was  more  than  an 
efficient  caterer;  he  was  something  of  a  diplo- 
matist also.  Taking  advantage  of  that  glow  of 
satisfaction  which  is  the  psychological  effect  of 
physical  needs  generously  satisfied,  he  appears 
to  have  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  the  pilgrims 
to  pay  their  ^^  rekeninges/'  and  having  at- 
tained that  practical  object  he  rewarded  his 
customers  with  liberal  interest  for  their  hard 
cash  in  the  form  of  unstinted  praise  of  their 
collective  merits.  In  all  that  year  he  had  not 
seen  so  merry  a  company  gathered  under  his 
roof,  etc.,  etc.  But  of  greater  moment  for 
future  generations  was  his  suggestion  that,  as 
there  was  no  comfort  in  riding  to  Canterbury 
dumb  as  a  stone,  the  pilgrims  should  beguile 
their  journey  by  telling  stories.  The  sugges- 
tion   was    loudly    acclaimed    and    the    scheme 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  11 


unanimously  pledged  in  further  copious 
draughts  of  wine.  And  then,  to  "  reste  wente 
echon/'  until  the  dawn  came  again  and  smiled 
down  upon  that  brave  company  whose  tale- 
telling  pilgrimage  has  since  been  followed  with 
so  much  delight  by  countless  thousands. 

By  the  time  Stow  made  his  famous  survey 
of  London,  some  two  centuries  later,  the  Tab- 
ard was  rejoicing  to  the  full  in  the  glories  cast 
around  it  by  Chaucer's  pen.     Stow  cites  the 
poet's  commendation  as  its  chief  title  to  fame, 
and  pauses  to  explain  that  the  name  of  the  inn 
was  ''  so  called  of  the  sign,  which,  as  we  now 
term  it,  is  of  a  jacket,  or  sleeveless  coat,  whole 
before,  open  on  both  sides,  with  a  square  collar, 
winged  at  the  shoulders ;   a  stately  garment  of 
old   time,    commonly   worn   of   noblemen   and 
others,  both  at  home  and  abroad  in  the  war, 
but  then  (to  wit  in  the  wars)  their  arms  em- 
broidered, or  otherwise  depict  upon  them,  that 
every  man  by  his  coat  of  arms  might  be  known 
from  others."     All  this  heraldic  lore  did  not 
prevent  the  subsequent  change  —  for  a  time  — 
of  the  name  Tabard  to  the  meaningless  name 
of  Talbot,  a  distortion,  however,  which  survives 
only  in  antiquarian  history. 

At  the  dissolution   of  the  monasteries   this 
inn,  which  up  till  then  had  retained  its  connec- 


12     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


tion  with  the  church  through  belonging  to  Hyde 
Abbey,  was  granted  to  two  brothers  named 
Master,  and  in  1542  its  annual  rent  is  fixed  at 
nine  pounds.  An  authority  on  social  life  in 
England  during  the  middle  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's reign  ventures  on  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  the  arrangements  of  the  inn  at  that 
period.  ''  On  the  ground-floor,  looking  on  to 
the  street,  was  a  room  called  ^  the  darke  par- 
lour,' a  hall,  and  a  general  reception-room 
called  '  the  parlour.'  This  was  probably  the 
dining-room  of  the  house,  as  it  opened  on  to 
the  kitchen  on  the  same  level.  Below  the  dark 
parlour  was  a  cellar.  On  the  first  floor,  above 
the  parlour  and  the  hall,  were  three  rooms  — 
*  the  middle  chamber,'  ^  the  corner  chamber,' 
and  *  Maister  Hussye's  chamber,'  with  garrets 
or  '  cock  lofts  '  over  them.  Over  the  great  par- 
lour was  another  room.  There  were  also  rooms 
called  ^  the  Entry  Chamber  '  and  '  the  Newe 
chamber,'  *  the  Flower  de  Luce  '  and  *  Mr.  Eus- 
sell's  chamber,'  of  which  the  position  is  not 
specified." 

When,  in  1875,  the  old  Tabard,  the  inn,  that 
is,  of  George  Shepherd's  water-colour  drawing 
of  1810,  was  demolished,  making  way  for  the 
present  somewhat  commonplace  representative 
of  the  ancient  hostelry,  many  protests  were 


t  c 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  13 


made  on  the  plea  that  it  was  sheer  vandalism 
to  destroy  a  building  so  intimately  associated 
with  the  genius  of  Chaucer.    But  the  protests 
were  based  upon  lack  of  knowledge.    Chaucer's 
inn  had  disappeared  long  before.    It  is  some- 
times stated  that  that  building  survived  until 
the  great  Southwark  fire  of  1676,  but  such  as- 
sertions overlook  the  fact  that  there  is  in  exist- 
ence a  record  dated  1634  which  speaks  of  the 
Tabard  as  having  been  built  of  brick  six  years 
previously   upon   the    old   foundation.      Here, 
then,  is  proof  that  the  Tabard  of  the  pilgrims 
was  wholly  reconstructed  in  1628,  and  even  that 
building  —  faithful  copy  as  it  may  have  been 
of  the  poet's  inn  — was  burnt  to  the  ground  in 
1676.     From  the  old  foundations,  however,  a 
new  Tabard  arose,  built  on  the  old  plan,  so 
that  the  structure  which  was  torn  down  in  1875 
may  have  perpetuated  the  semblance  of  Chau- 
cer's inn  to  modern  times. 

Compared  with  its  association  with  the  Can- 
terbury pilgrims,  the  subsequent  history  of  the 
Tabard  is  somewhat  prosaic.  Here  a  record 
tells  how  it  became  the  objective  of  numerous 
carriers  from  Kent  and  Sussex,  there  crops  up 
a  law  rep^ort  which  enshrines  the  memory  of  a 
burglary,  and  elsewhere  in  reminiscences  or 
diary  may  be  found  a  tribute  to  the  excellence 


14     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

of  the  inn's  rooms  and  food  and  the  reasonable- 
ness of  the  charges.  It  should  not  be  forgot- 
ten, however,  that  violent  hands  have  been  laid 
on  the  famous  inn  for  the  lofty  purposes  of 
melodrama.  More  than  sixty  years  ago  a  play 
entitled  ^'  Mary  White,  or  the  Murder  at  the 
Old  Tabard  "  thrilled  the  theatregoer  with  its 
tragic  situations  and  the  terrible  perils  of  the 
heroine.  But  the  tribulations  of  Mary  White 
have  left  no  imprint  on  English  literature. 
Chaucer's  pilgrims  have,  and  so  long  as  the 
mere  name  of  the  Tabard  survives,  its  recollec- 
tion will  bring  in  its  train  a  moving  picture  of 
that  merry  and  motley  company  which  set  out 
for  the  shrine  of  A  Becket  so  many  generations 
ago. 

Poetic  license  bestows  upon  another  notable 
Southwark  inn,  the  Bear  at  Bridge-foot,  an 
antiquity  far  eclipsing  that  of  the  Tabard.  In 
a  poem  printed  in  1691,  descriptive  of  '^  The 
Last  Search  after  Claret  in  Southwark,'*  the 
heroes  of  the  verse  are  depicted  as  eventually 
finding  their  way  to 

"  Tlie  Boar,  whicli  wc  soon  nnderstood 
Was  the  first  liouse  in  Southwark  built  after  the  flood." 

To  describe  the  inn  as  ^'  the  first  liouse  in 
Southwark  ''   might   have   been    accurate   for 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  15 


those  callers  who  approached  it  over  London 
Bridge,  but  in  actual  chronology  the  proud  dis- 
tinction of  dating  from  post-deluge  days  has 
really  to  give  place  to  the  much  more  recent 
year  of  1319.  There  is  preserved  among  the 
archives  of  the  city  of  London  a  tavern  lease 
of  that  date  which  belongs  without  donbt  to  the 
history  of  this  hostelry,  for  it  refers  to  the  inn 
which  Thomas  Drinkwater  had  ''  recently  built 
at  the  head  of  London  Bridge/'  This  Thomas 
Drinkwater  was  a  taverner  of  London,  and  the 
document  in  question  sets  forth  how  he  had 
granted  the  lease  of  the  Bear  to  one  James 
Beauflur,  who  agrees  to  purchase  all  his  wines 
from  the  inappropriately  named  Drinkwater, 
who,  on  his  part,  was  to  furnish  his  tenant  with 
such  necessaries  as  silver  mugs,  wooden  ha- 
naps,  curtains,  cloths  and  other  articles. 

A  century  and  a  half  later  the  inn  figures  in 
the  accounts  of  Sir  John  Howard,  that  warlike 
*^  Jacke  of  Norfolk''  who  became  the  first 
Duke  of  Norfolk  in  the  Howard  family  and 
fatally  attested  his  loyalty  to  his  king  on  Bos- 
worth  Field.  From  that  time  onward  casual 
references  to  the  Bear  are  numerous.  It  was 
probably  the  best-known  inn  of  Southwark,  for 
its  enviable  position  at  the  foot  of  London 
Bridge  made  it  conspicuous  to  all  entering  or 


16     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

leaving  the  city.  Its  attractions  were  enhanced 
by  the  fact  that  archery  could  be  practised  in 
its  grounds,  and  that  within  those  same  grounds 
was  the  Thames-side  landing  stage  from 
whence  the  tilt-boats  started  for  Greenwich  and 
Gravesend.  It  was  the  opportunity  for  shoot- 
ing at  the  target  which  helped  to  lure  Sir  John 
Howard  to  the  Bear,  but  as  he  sampled  the 
wine  of  the  inn  before  testing  his  skill  as  a 
marksman,  he  found  himself  the  poorer  by  the 
twenty-pence  with  which  he  had  backed  his  own 
prowess.  Under  date  1633  there  is  an  inter- 
esting reference  which  sets  forth  that,  although 
orders  had  been  given  to  have  all  the  back- 
doors to  taverns  on  the  Thames  closed  up,  ow- 
ing to  the  fact  that  wrong-doers  found  them 
convenient  in  evading  the  officers  of  the  law,  an 
exception  was  made  in  the  case  of  the  Bear 
owing  to  the  fact  that  it  was  the  starting-place 
for  Greenwich. 

Evidence  in  abundance  might  be  cited  to 
show  that  the  inn  was  a  favourite  meeting 
place  with  the  wits  and  gallants  of  the  court 
of  Charles  I  and  the  Restoration.  ^'  The  mad- 
dest of  all  the  land  came  to  bait  the  Bear,*'  is 
one  testimony;  ^^  I  stuffed  myself  with  food 
and  tipple  till  the  lioojos  were  readj^  to  burst/' 


•1         ^      '      -,• 


e      S     9 

1  ■>         ) 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  17 


is  another.  There  is  one  figure,  however,  of 
the  thirties  of  the  seventeenth  century  which 
arrests  the  attention.  This  is  Sir  John  Suck- 
ling, that  gifted  and  ill-fated  poet  and  man  of 
fashion  of  whom  it  was  said  that  he  '*  had  the 
peculiar  happiness  of  making  everything  that 
he  did  become  him. '  ^  His  ready  wit,  his  strik- 
ingly handsome  face  and  person,  his  wealth  and 
generosity,  his  skill  in  all  fashionable  pastimes 
made  him  a  favourite  with  all.  The  preferences 
of  the  man,  his  delight  in  the  joys  of  the  town 
as  compared  with  the  pleasures  of  secluded 
study  in  the  country,  are  clearly  seen  in  those 
sprightly  lines  in  which  he  invited  the  learned 
John  Hales,  the  ''  walking  library, '*  to  leave 
Eton  and  ^^  come  to  town  '': 

"  There  you  shall  find  the  wit  and  wine 
Flowing  alike,  and  both  divine : 
Dishes,  with  names  not  known  in  books. 
And  less  among  the  college-cooks; 
With  sauce  so  pregnant,  that  you  need 
Not  stay  till  hunger  bids  you  feed. 
The  sweat  of  learned  Jonson's  brain, 
And  gentle  Shakespeare's  eas'er  strain, 
A  hackney  coach  conveys  you  to, 
In  spite  of  all  that  rain  can  do : 
And  for  your  eighteenpence  you  sit 
The  lord  and  judge  of  all  fresh  wit." 


18     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


Nor  was  it  in  verse  alone  that  Suckling  cele- 
brated the  praises  of  wine.  Among  the  scanty- 
remains  of  his  prose  there  is  that  lively  sally, 
written  at  the  Bear,  and  entitled :  ' '  The  Wine- 
drinkers  to  the  Water-drinkers.''  After  mock- 
ingly commiserating  with  the  teetotalers  over 
the  sad  plight  into  which  their  habits  had 
brought  them,  the  address  continues:  '^  We 
have  had  divers  meetings  at  the  Bear  at  the 
Bridge-foot,  and  now  at  length  have  resolved 
to  despatch  to  you  one  of  our  cabinet  council, 
Colonel  Young,  with  some  slight  forces  of 
canary,  and  some  few  of  sherry,  which  no  doubt 
will  stand  you  in  good  stead,  if  they  do  not 
mutiny  and  grow  too  headstrong  for  their  com- 
mander. Him  Captain  Puff  of  Barton  shall 
follow  with  all  expedition,  with  two  or  three 
regiments  of  claret;  Monsieur  de  Granville, 
commonly  called  Lieutenant  Strutt,  shall  lead 
up  the  rear  of  Ehenish  and  white.  These  suc- 
cours, thus  timely  sent,  we  are  confident  will 
be  sufficient  to  hold  the  enemy  in  play,  and,  till 
we  hear  from  you  again,  we  shall  not  think  of 
a  fresh  supply.  .  .  .  Given  under  our  hand  at 
the  Bear,  this  fourth  of  July.'' 

Somewhere  about  the  date  when  this  drollery 
was  penned  there  happened  at  the  Bear  an  inci- 
dent which  might  have  furnished  the  water- 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  19 


drinkers  with  an  effective  retort  on  their  satir- 
ist. The  Earl  of  Buccleugh,  just  returned  from 
military  service  abroad,  on  his  way  into  Lon- 
don, halted  at  the  Bear  to  quaff  a  glass  of  sack 
with  a  friend.  A  few  minutes  later  he  put  off 
in  a  boat  for  the  further  shore  of  the  Thames, 
but  ere  the  craft  had  gone  many  yards  from 
land  the  earl  exclaimed,  ^ '  I  am  deadly  sick,  row 
back;  Lord  have  mercy  upon  me!''  Those 
were  his  last  words,  for  he  died  that  night. 

Another  picturesque  figure  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  is  among  the  shades  that  haunt 
the  memory  of  the  Bear,  Samuel  Pepys,  that 
irrepressible  gadabout  who  was  more  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  the  inns  and  taverns  of 
London  than  any  man  of  his  time.  That 
Thames-side  hostelry  was  evidently  a  favourite 
resort  of  the  diarist.  On  both  occasions  of  his 
visits  to  Southwark  Fair  he  made  the  inn  his 
base  of  operations  as  it  were,  especially  in  1668 
when  the  puppet-show  of  Whittington  seemed 
''  pretty  to  see,"  though  he  could  not  resist  the 
reflection  ' '  how  that  idle  thing  do  work  upon 
people  that  see  it,  and  even  myself  too !  ' ' 

Pepys  had  other  excitements  that  day.  He 
was  so  mightily  taken  with  Jacob  Hall's  danc- 
ing on  the  ropes  that  on  meeting  that  worthy 
at  a  tavern  he  presented  him  with  a  bottle  of 


20     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

wine.  Having  done  justice  to  all  the  sights  of 
the  fair,  he  returned  to  the  Bear,  where  his 
waterman  awaited  him  with  the  gold  and  other 
things  to  the  value  of  forty  pounds  which  the 
prudent  diarist  had  left  in  his  charge  at  the  inn 
^ '  for  fear  of  my  pockets  being  cut. ' ' 

Pepys  himself  incidentally  explains  why  he 
had  so  friendly  a  regard  for  the  Bridge-foot 
tavern.  *  ^  Going  through  bridge  by  water, ' '  he 
writes,  ''  my  waterman  told  me  how  the  mis- 
tress of  the  Beare  tavern,  at  the  bridge-foot, 
did  lately  fling  herself  into  the  Thames,  and 
drowned  herself;  which  did  trouble  me  the 
more,  when  they  tell  me  it  was  she  that  did  live 
at  the  White  Horse  tavern  in  Lumbard  Street, 
which  was  a  most  beautiful  woman,  as  most  I 
have  seen." 

Yet  another  fair  woman,  Frances  Stuart,  one 
of  the  greatest  beauties  of  the  court  of  Charles 
II,  is  linked  with  the  history  of  the  Beare.  Sad 
as  was  the  havoc  she  wrought  in  the  heart  of 
the  susceptible  Pepys,  who  is  ever  torn  be- 
tween admiration  of  her  loveliness  and  mock- 
reprobation  of  her  equivocal  position  at  court, 
Frances  Stuart  created  still  deeper  passions  in 
men  more  highly  placed  than  he.  Apart  from 
her  royal  lover,  there  were  two  nobles,  the 
Dukes  of  York  and  Richmond    who  contended 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  21 

for  her  hand,  with  the  result  of  victory  finally 
resting  with  the  latter.  But  the  match  had  to 
be  a  runaway  one.  The  king  was  in  no  mood  to 
part  with  his  favourite,  and  so  the  lovers  ar- 
ranged a  meeting  at  the  Bear,  where  a  coach 
was  in  waiting  to  spirit  them  away  into  Kent. 
No  wonder  Charles  was  offended,  especially 
when  the  lady  sent  him  back  his  presents. 

Nearly  a  century  and  a  half  has  passed  since 
the  Bear  finally  closed  its  doors.  All  through 
the  lively  years  of  the  Kestoration  it  main- 
tained its  reputation  as  a  house  of  good  cheer 
and  a  wholly  desirable  rendezvous,  and  it  fig- 
ures not  inconspicuously  in  the  social  life  of 
London  down  to  1761.  By  that  time  the  ever- 
increasing  traffic  over  the  Thames  bridge  had 
made  the  enlargement  of  that  structure  a  neces- 
sity, and  the  Bear  was  among  the  buildings 
which  had  to  be  demolished. 

Further  south  in  the  High  street,  and  oppo- 
site the  house  in  which  John  Harvard,  the 
founder  of  America's  oldest  university,  was 
born,  stood  the  Boar's  Head,  an  inn  which  was 
once  the  property  of  Sir  Fastolfe,  and  was  by 
him  bequeathed  through  a  friend  to  Magdalen 
College,  Oxford.  This  must  not  be  confused 
with  the  Boar's  Head  of  Shakespeare,  which 
stood  in  Eastcheap  on  the  other  side  of  the 


22     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

river,  though  it  is  a  remarkable  coincidence 
that  it  was  in  the  latter  inn  the  dramatist  laid 
the  scene  of  Prince  Hal's  merrymaking  with 
the  Sir  John  Falstaff  we  all  know.  The  earliest 
reference  to  the  Southwark  Boar's  Head  occurs 
in  the  Paston  Letters  under  date  1459.  This 
is  an  epistle  from  a  servant  of  Fastolfe  to  John 
Paston,  asking  him  to  remind  his  master  that 
he  had  promised  him  he  should  be  made  host 
of  the  Boar's  Head,  but  whether  he  ever  at- 
tained to  that  desired  position  there  is  no  evi- 
dence to  show.  The  inn  makes  but  little  figure 
in  history;  by  1720  it  had  dwindled  to  a  mere 
courtyard,  and  in  1830  the  last  remnants  were 
cleared  away. 

Inevitably,  however,  the  fact  that  the  Boar's 
Head  was  the  property  of  Sir  John  Fastolfe 
prompts  tlie  question,  what  relation  had  he  to 
the  Sir  John  Falstaif  of  Shakespeare's  plays! 
This  has  been  a  topic  of  large  discussion  for 
many  years.  There  are  so  many  touches  of 
character  and  definite  incidents  which  apply  in 
common  to  the  two  knights  that  the  poet  has 
been  assumed  to  have  had  the  historic  Fastolfe 
ever  in  view  when  drawing  the  portrait  of  his 
Falstaff.  The  historian  Fuller  assumed  this 
to  have  been  the  case,  for  he  complains  that  the 
*^  stage  have  been  overbold  "  in  dealing  with 


1        ) 

■J       >■>■)■>■>       « 

Jl  ,-1*1'. 


1  o 


COURTYARD    OF    BOAR'S    HEAD    INN,    SOUTHWARK, 


c 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  23 


Fastolfe's    memory.      Sidney    Lee,    however, 
sums  up  the  case  thus:  ''  Shakespeare  was  pos- 
sibly under  the  misapprehension,  based  on  the 
episode  of  cowardice  reported  in  '  Henry  VI,* 
that  the  military  exploits  of  the  historical  Sir 
John  Fastolfe  sufficiently  resembled  those  of 
his  own  riotous  knight  to  justify  the  employ- 
ment of  a  corrupted  version  of  his  name.     It 
is  of  course  untrue  that  Fastolfe  was  ever  the 
intimate  associate  of  Henry  V  when  Prince  of 
Wales,  who  was  not  his  junior  by  more  than 
ten  years,  or  that  he  was  an  impecunious  spend- 
thrift and  gray-haired  debauchee.    The  histor- 
ical Fastolfe  was  in  private  life  an  expert  man 
of  business,  who  was  indulgent  neither  to  him- 
self nor  his   friends.     He  was   nothing   of   a 
jester,  and  was,  in  spite  of  all  imputations  to 
the  contrary,  a  capable  and  brave  soldier.'' 

Sad  as  has  been  the  havoc  wrought  by  time 
and  the  hand  of  man  among  the  hostelries  of 
Southwark,  a  considerable  portion  of  one  still 
survives  in  its  actual  seventeenth  century  guise. 
This  is  the  George  Inn,  which  is  slightly  nearer 
London  Bridge  than  the  Tabard.  To  catch  a 
peep  of  its  old-world  aspect,  with  its  quaint 
gallery  and  other  indubitable  tokens  of  a  dis- 
tant past,  gives  the  pilgrim  a  pleasant  shock. 
It  is  such  a  contrast  to  the  ugly  modern  struc- 


24     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

tures  which  impose  themselves  on  the  public 
as  ^^Ye  Olde^'  this  and  ^^  Ye  Olde '^  that. 
Here  at  any  rate  is  a  veritable  survival.  Nor 
does  it  matter  that  the  George  has  made  little 
^gnie  in  history;  there  is  a  whole  world  of 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  it  has  changed 
but  little  since  it  was  built  in  1672.  Its  name 
is  older  than  its  structure.  Stow  included  the 
George  among  the  **  many  fair  inns  '^  he  saw 
in  Southwark  in  1598,  a  fact  which  deals  a  cruel 
blow  to  that  crude  theory  which  declares  inns 
were  so  named  after  the  royal  Georges  of  Great 
Britain. 

Among  the  numerous  other  inns  which  once 
lined  the  High  Street  of  Southwark  there  is  but 
one  which  has  claims  upon  the  attention  on 
the  score  of  historic  and  literary  interest.  This 
is  the  Wliite  Hart,  which  was  doubtless  an  old 
establishment  at  the  date,  1406,  of  its  first  men- 
tion in  historical  records.  Forty-four  years 
later,  that  is  in  1450,  the  inn  gained  its  most 
notable  association  by  being  made  the  head- 
quarters of  Jack  Cade  at  the  time  of  his  famous 
insurrection.  Modern  research  has  shown  that 
this  rebellion  was  a  much  more  serious  matter 
than  the  older  historians  were  aware  of,  but 
the  most  careful  investigation  into  Cade's  ca- 
reer has  failed  to  elicit  any  particulars  of  note 


HI 

w 
o 

o 

H 
O 


1 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  25 


prior  to  a  year  before  the  rising  took  place. 
The  year  and  place  of  his  birth  are  unknown, 
but  twelve  months  before  he  appears  in  history 
he  was  obliged  to  flee  the  realm  and  take  refuge 
in  France  owing  to  his  having  murdered  a 
woman  who  was  with  child.  He  served  for  a 
time  in  the  French  army,  then  returned  under 
an  assumed  name  and  settled  in  Kent,  which 
was  the  centre  of  discontent  against  Henry  VI. 
As  the  one  hope  of  reform  lay  in  an  appeal  to 
arms,  the  discontent  broke  into  open  revolt. 
*^  The  rising  spread  from  Kent  over  Surrey 
and  Sussex.  Everywhere  it  was  general  and 
organized  —  a  military  levy  of  the  yeomen  of 
the  three  shires.'^  It  was  not  of  the  people 
alone,  for  more  than  a  hundred  esquires  and 
gentlemen  threw  in  their  lot  with  the  rebels; 
but  how  it  came  about  that  Jack  Cade  attained 
the  leadership  is  a  profound  mystery.  Leader, 
however,  he  was,  and  when  he,  with  his  twenty 
thousand  men,  took  possession  of  Southwark  as 
the  most  desirable  base  from  which  to  threaten 
the  city  of  London,  he  elected  the  "White  Hart 
for  his  own  quarters.  This  was  on  the  first  of 
July,  1450,  and  for  the  next  few  of  those  mid- 
summer days  the  inn  was  the  scene  of  many 
stirring  and  tragic  events.  Daily,  Cade  at  the 
head  of  his  troops  crossed  the  bridge  into  the 


26     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

city,  and  on  one  of  those  excursions  he  caused 
the  seizure  and  beheadal  of  the  hated  Lord  Say. 
Daily,  too,  there  was  constant  coming  and  going 
at  the  White  Hart  of  Cade's  emissaries.  At 
length,  however,  the  citizens  of  London,  stung 
into  action  by  the  robberies  and  other  outrages 
of  the  rebels,  occupied  the  bridge  in  force.  A 
stubborn  struggle  ensued,  but  Cade  and  his  men 
were  finally  beaten  off.  The  amnesty  which 
followed  led  to  a  conference  at  which  terms 
were  arranged  and  a  general  pardon  granted. 
That  for  Cade,  however,  as  it  was  made  out 
in  his  assumed  name  of  Mortimer,  was  invalid, 
and  on  the  discovery  being  made  he  seized  a 
large  quantity  of  booty  and  fled.  Not  many 
days  later  he  was  run  to  earth,  wounded  in  be- 
ing captured,  and  died  as  he  was  being  brought 
back  to  London.  His  naked  body  was  identified 
by  the  hostess  of  the  White  Hart,  who  was 
probably  relieved  to  gaze  upon  so  certain  an 
indication  that  she  would  be  able  to  devote  her- 
self once  more  to  the  entertainment  of  less 
troublesome  guests. 

For  all  the  speedy  ending  of  his  ambitions. 
Cade  is  assured  of  immortality  so  long  as  the 
pages  of  Shakespeare  endure.  The  rebel  is  a 
stirring  figure  in  the  Second  Part  of  King 
Henry  VI  and  as  an  orator  of  the  mob  reaches 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  27 


Ills  greatest  flights  of  eloquence  in  that  speech 
which  perpetuates  the  name  of  his  headquarters 
at  Southwark.  ^^  Hath  my  sword  therefore 
broke  through  London  gates,  that  you  should 
leave  me  at  the  White  Hart  in  Southwark?  '^ 

But  English  literature  was  not  done  with  the 
old  inn.  Many  changes  were  to  pass  over  its 
head  during  the  nearly  four  centuries  which 
elapsed  ere  it  was  touched  once  more  by  the 
pen  of  genius,  changes  wrought  by  the  havoc  of 
fire  and  the  attritions  of  the  hand  of  time. 
When  those  years  had  fled  a  figure  was  to  be 
seen  in  its  courtyard  to  become  better  known 
to  and  better  beloved  by  countless  thousands 
than  the  rebel  leader  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
*^  In  the  Borough,'^  wrote  the  creator  of  that 
figure,  ^^  there  still  remain  some  half  dozen  old 
inns,  which  have  preserved  their  external  fea- 
tures unchanged,  and  which  have  escaped  alike 
the  rage  for  public  improvement  and  the  en- 
croachments of  private  speculation.  Great, 
rambling,  queer  old  places  they  are,  with  gal- 
leries, and  passages,  and  staircases,  wide 
enough  and  antiquated  enough  to  furnish  mate- 
rials for  a  hundred  ghost  stories.  ...  It  was  in 
the  yard  of  one  of  these  inns  —  of  no  less  cele- 
brated a  one  than  the  White  Hart  —  that  a  man 
was  busily  employed  in  brushing  the  dirt  off 


28     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

a  pair  of  boots,  early  on  the  morning  succeed- 
ing the  events  narrated  in  the  last  chapter.  He 
was  habited  in  a  coarse-striped  waistcoat,  with 
black  calico  sleeves,  and  blue  glass  buttons; 
drab  breeches  and  leggings.  A  bright  red 
handkerchief  was  wound  in  a  very  loose  and 
unstudied  style  round  his  neck,  and  an  old  white 
hat  was  carelessly  thrown  on  one  side  of  his 
head.  There  were  two  rows  of  boots  before 
him,  one  cleaned  and  the  other  dirty,  and  at 
every  addition  he  made  to  the  clean  row,  he 
paused  from  his  work,  and  contemplated  its 
results  with  evident  satisfaction. '^ 

Who  does  not  recognize  Sam  Weller,  making 
his  first  appearance  in  "  The  Posthumous 
Papers  of  the  Pickwick  Club  '^^  And  who  has 
not  revelled  in  the  lively  scene  in  the  White 
Hart  when  Mr.  Pickwick  and  his  friends  ar- 
rived in  the  nick  of  time  to  prevent  the  ancient 
but  still  sentimental  Kachael  from  becoming 
Mrs.  Jingle?  It  is  not  difficult  to  understand 
why  that  particular  instalment  of  *^  Pickwick  '* 
was  the  turning-point  of  the  book's  fortunes. 
Prior  to  the  advent  of  Sam  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  White  Hart  the  public  had  shown  but  a 
moderate  interest  in  the  new  venture  of 
*^  Boz,"  but  from  that  event  onward  the  sales 
of  the  succeeding  parts  were  ever  on  the  in- 


'  ,1)15        1 


1  5    1    > 


»       •  !»'  ''^  o*'  2*,  '  '    '\ 


WHITE    HART    INN,    SOUTHWARK. 


c  r 


/. 


Famous  Southwark  Inns  29 

crease.  Sam  and  the  White  Hart,  then,  had 
much  to  do  with  the  career  of  Dickens,  for  if 
''  Pickwick  '^  had  failed  it  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  he  would  have  abandoned  literature 
as  a  profession. 

When  Dickens  wrote,  the  White  Hart  was 
still  in  existence.  It  is  so  no  longer.  Till  late 
in  the  last  century  this  hostelry  was  spared  the 
fate  which  had  overtaken  so  many  Southwark 
taverns,  even  though,  in  place  of  the  nobles  it 
had  sheltered,  its  customers  had  become  hop- 
merchants,  farmers,  and  others  of  lower  de- 
gree. In  1889,  in  the  month  of  July,  four  hun- 
dred and  thirty-nine  years  after  it  had  received 
Jack  Cade  under  its  roof,  the  last  timbers  of 
the  old  inn  were  levelled  to  the  ground. 


CHAPTER   n 

INNS  AND  TAVEKNS  EAST  OF  ST.  PAUL's 

BoswELL  relates  how,  in  one  of  his  numerous 
communicative  moods,  he  informed  Dr.  John- 
son of  the  existence  of  a  club  at  ^^  the  Boar's 
Head  in  Eastcheap,  the  very  tavern  where 
Falstatf  and  his  joyous  companions  met;  the 
members  of  which  all  assume  Shakespeare's 
characters.  One  is  Falstaif,  another  Prince 
Henry,  another  Bardolph,  and  so  on."  If  the 
assiduous  little  Scotsman  entertained  the  idea 
of  joining  the  club,  a  matter  on  which  he  does 
not  throw  ^ny  light,  Johnson's  rejoinder  was 
sufficient  to  deter  him  from  doing  so.  ^'  Don't 
be  of  it,  Sir.  Now  that  you  have  a  name  you 
must  be  careful  to  avoid  many  things  not  bad 
in  themselves,  but  which  will  lessen  your  char- 
acter. ' ' 

Whether  Johnson's  remark  was  prompted  by 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  type  of  person 
frequenting  the  Boar's  Head  in  his  day  cannot 
be  decided,  but  there  are  ample  grounds  for 
thinking  that  the  patrons  of  that  inn  were  gen- 

30 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    31 

erally  of  a  somewhat  boisterous  kind.  That, 
perhaps,  is  partly  Shakespeare  ^s  fault.  Prior 
to  his  making  it  the  scene  of  the  mad  revelry  of 
Prince  Hal  and  his  none  too  choice  companions, 
the  history  of  the  Boar's  Head,  so  far  as  we 
know  it,  was  sedately  respectable.  One  of  the 
earliest  references  to  its  existence  is  in  a  lease 
dated  1537,  some  sixty  years  before  the  first 
part  of  Henry  IV  was  entered  in  the  Station- 
ers' Register.  Some  half  century  later,  that 
is  in  1588,  the  inn  was  kept  by  one  Thomas 
Wright,  whose  son  came  into  a  ^^  good  inherit- 
ance," was  made  clerk  of  the  King's  Stable, 
and  a  knight,  and  was  ^^  a  very  discreet  and 
"honest  gentleman." 

But  Shakespeare's  pen  dispelled  any  atmos- 
phere of  respectability  which  lingered  around 
the  Boar's  Head.  From  the  time  when  he  made 
it  the  meeting-place  of  the  mad-cap  Prince  of 
Wales  and  his  roistering  followers,  down  to  the 
day  of  Goldsmith's  reverie  under  its  roof,  the 
inn  has  dwelt  in  the  imagination  at  least  as  the 
rendezvous  of  hard  drinkers  and  practical  jok- 
ers. How  could  it  be  otherwise  after  the  limn- 
ing of  such  a  scene  as  that  described  in  Henry 
IV?  That  was  sufficient  to  dedicate  the  inn  to 
conviviality  for  ever. 

How  sharply  the  picture  shapes  itself  as  the 


32     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

hurrying  dialogue  is  read!  The  key-note  of 
merriment  is  struck  by  the  Prince  himself  as  he 
implores  the  aid  of  Poins  to  help  him  laugh  at 
the  excellent  trick  he  has  just  played  on  the 
boastful  but  craven  Falstaff,  and  the  bustle  and 
hilarity  of  the  scene  never  flags  for  a  moment. 
Even  Francis,  the  drawer,  whose  vocabulary  is 
limited  to  ^ '  Anon,  anon,  sir  '  ^  —  the  fellow  that 
had  ^'  fewer  words  than  a  parrot,  and  yet  the 
son  of  a  woman  ''  —  and  the  host  himself,  as 
perplexed  as  his  servant  when  two  customers 
call  at  once,  contribute  to  the  movement  of  the 
episode  in  its  earlier  stages.  But  the  pace  is 
increased  furiously  when  the  burly  Falstaff, 
scant  of  breath  indeed,  bustles  hurriedly  in 
proclaiming  in  one  breath  his  scorn  of  cowards 
and  his  urgent  need  of  a  cup  of  sack.  We  all 
know  the  boastful  story  he  told,  how  he  and 
his  three  companions  had  been  set  upon  and 
robbed  by  a  hundred  men,  how  he  himself  —  as 
witness  his  sword  ^'  packed  like  a  hand-saw  '^ 
—  had  kept  at  bay  and  put  to  flight  now  two, 
anon  four,  and  then  seven,  and  finally  eleven 
of  his  assailants.  We  all  can  see,  too,  the  rogu- 
ish twinkle  in  Prince  Hal's  eyes  as  the  brag- 
gart knight  embellishes  his  lying  tale  with 
every  fresh  sentence,  and  are  as  nonplussed  as 
he  when,  the  plot  discovered,  Falstaff  finds  a 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    33 

way  to  take  credit  for  liis  cowardice.  Who 
would  not  forgive  so  cajoling  a  vannter? 

It  was  later  in  this  scene,  be  it  remembered, 
that  the  portly  knight  was  found  fast  asleep 
behind  the  arras,  ^*  snorting  like  a  horse,''  and 
had  his  pockets  searched  to  the  discovery  of 
that  tavern  bill  —  not  paid  we  may  be  sure  — 
which  set  forth  an  expenditure  on  the  staff  of 
life  immensely  disproportionate  to  that  on 
drink,  and  elicited  the  famous  ejaculation  — 
*  *  But  one  half -pennyworth  of  bread  to  this  in- 
tolerable deal  of  sack!  '' 

But  Shakespeare  had  not  finished  with  the 
Boar's  Head.  More  coarse  and  less  merry,  but 
not  less  vivid,  is  that  other  scene  wherein  the 
shrill-tongued  Doll  Tearsheet  and  the  peace- 
making Dame  Quickly  figure.  And  it  is  of  a 
special  and  private  room  in  the  Boar's  Head 
we  think  as  we  listen  to  Dame  Quickly 's  tale  of 
how  the  amorous  Falstaff  made  love  to  her 
with  his  hand  upon  ^ '  a  parcel-gilt  goblet, ' '  and 
followed  up  the  declaration  with  a  kiss  and  a 
request  for  thirty  shillings. 

For  Shakespeare's  sake,  then,  the  Boar's 
Head  is  elect  into  that  small  circle  of  inns  which 
are  immortal  in  the  annals  of  literature.  But, 
like  Chaucer's  Tabard,  no  stone  of  it  is  left. 
Boswell  made  a  mistake,  and  so  did  Goldsmith 


34     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

after  him,  in  thinking  that  the  Boar's  Head  of 
the  eighteenth  century  was  the  Boar's  Head  of 
Shakespeare 's  day.  They  both  forgot  the  great 
Fire  of  London.  That  disastrous  conflagration 
of  1666  swept  away  every  vestige  of  the  old  inn. 
Upon  its  foundation,  however,  another  Boar's 
Head  arose,  the  sign  of  which,  cut  in  stone  and 
dated  1668,  is  among  the  treasures  of  the  Guild- 
hall Museum.  This  was  the  building  in  which 
Boswell's  club  met,  and  it  was  under  its  roof 
Goldsmith  penned  his  famous  reverie. 

As  was  to  be  expected  of  that  social  soul,  the 
character  of  FalstafP  gave  Goldsmith  more  con- 
solation than  the  most  studied  efforts  of  wis- 
dom: ''  I  here  behold,"  he  continues,  ^^  an 
agreeable  old  fellow  forgetting  age,  and  show- 
ing me  the  way  to  be  young  at  sixtj^-five.  Sure 
I  am  well  able  to  be  as  merry,  though  not  so 
comical,  as  he.  Is  it  not  in  my  power  to  have, 
though  not  so  much  wit,  at  least  as  much  vivac- 
ity ?  —  Age,  care,  wisdom,  reflection,  begone  — 
I  give  you  to  the  winds!  Let's  have  t'other 
bottle :  Here 's  to  the  memory  of  Shakespeare, 
Falstaff,  and  all  the  merry  men  of  East- 
cheap!  " 

With  such  zest  did  Goldsmith  enter  into  his 
night  out  at  the  Boar's  Head  that  when  the 
midnight  hour  arrived  he  discovered  all  his 


,     ,        -5     •>    -> 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    35 

companions  had  stolen  away,  leaving  him  — 
still  in  high  spirits  —  with  the  landlord  as  his 
sole  companion.  Then  the  mood  of  reverie  be- 
gan to  work.  The  very  room  helped  to  trans- 
port him  back  through  the  centuries;  the  oak 
floor,  the  gothic  windows,  the  ponderous  chim- 
ney-piece, —  all  were  reminders  of  the  past. 
But  the  prosaic  landlord  was  an  obstacle  to  the 
complete  working  of  the  spell.  At  last,  how- 
ever, a  change  came  over  mine  host,  or  so  it 
seemed  to  the  dreaming  chronicler.  ^'  He  in- 
sensibly began  to  alter  his  appearance;  his 
cravat  seemed  quilled  into  a  ruff,  and  his 
breeches  swelled  out  into  a  farlingale.  I  now 
fancied  him  changing  sexes;  and  as  my  eyes 
began  to  close  in  slumber,  I  imagined  my  fat 
landlord  actually  converted  into  as  fat  a  land- 
lady. However,  sleep  made  but  few  changes  in 
my  situation:  the  tavern,  the  apartment,  and 
the  table,  continued  as  before:  nothing  suf- 
fered mutation  but  my  host,  who  was  fairly 
altered  into  a  gentlewoman,  whom  1  knew  to  be 
Dame  Quickly,  mistress  of  this  tavern  in  the 
days  of  Sir  John;  and  the  liquor  we  were 
drinking  seemed  converted  into  sack  and 
sugar. '  ^ 

Such  an  opportunity  of  interviewing  an  ac- 
quaintance of  Falstaff  was  not  to  be  lost,  and 


36     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

to  the  credit  of  Dame  Quickly  be  it  said  that 
she  was  far  more  communicative  than  some 
moderns  are  under  the  questioning  ordeal.  But 
it  was  no  wonder  she  was  loquacious :  had  she 
not  been  ordered  by  Pluto  to  keep  a  record  of 
every  transaction  at  the  Boar's  Head,  and  in 
the  discharge  of  that  duty  compiled  three  hun- 
dred tomes?  Some  may  subscribe  to  the  opin- 
ion that  Dame  Quickly  was  indiscreet  as  well 
as  loquacious;  certainly  she  did  not  spare  the 
reputations  of  some  who  had  dwelt  under  that 
ancient  roof.  The  sum  of  the  matter,  however, 
was  that  since  the  execution  of  that  hostess  who 
was  accused  of  witchcraft  the  Boar's  Head 
*'  underwent  several  revolutions,  according  to 
the  spirit  of  the  times,  or  the  disposition  of  the 
reigning  monarch.  It  was  this  day  a  brothel, 
and  the  next  a  conventicle  for  enthusiasts.  It 
was  one  year  noted  for  harbouring  Whigs,  and 
the  next  infamous  for  a  retreat  to  Tories. 
Some  years  ago  it  was  in  high  vogue,  but  at 
present  it  seems  declining." 

One  other  son  of  genius  was  to  add  to  the 
fame  of  the  Boar's  Head,  the  American  Gold- 
smith, that  is,  the  gentle  Washington  Irving. 
Of  course  Shakespeare  was  the  moving  spirit 
once  more.  Wliile  turning  over  the  pages  of 
Henry  IV  Irving  was  seized  with  a  sudden  in- 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paurs    37 

spiration:  ^^  will  make  a  pilgrimage  to  East- 
cheap,  and  see  if  the  old  Boar's  Head  tavern 
still  exists/^    But  it  was  too  late.     The  only 
relic  of  the  ancient  abode  of  Dame  Quickly  was 
the  stone  boards  head,  built  into  walls  reared 
where  the  inn  once  stood.     Nothing  daunted, 
however,  Irving  explored  the  neighbourhood, 
and  was  rewarded,  as  he  thought,  by  running 
to  earth  Dame  Quickly 's  ''  parcel-gilt  goblet  »^'^ 
in  a  tavern  near  by.    He  had  one  other  ''  find.'' 
In  the  old  graveyard  of  St.  MichaePs,  which  no 
longer  exists,  he  discovered,  so  he  avers,  the 
tombstone  of  one  Eobert  Preston  who,  like  the 
Francis  of  ''  Anon,  anon,  sir,"  was  a  drawer  at 
the  Boar's  Head,  and  quotes  from  that  tomb- 
stone the  following  admonitory  epitaph: 

"  Bacchus,  to  give  the  toping  world  surprise. 
Produced  one  sober  son,  and  here  he  hes. 
Though  rear'd  among  full  hogsheads,  he  defied 
The  charms  of  wine,  and  every  one  beside. 
0  reader,  if  to  justice  thou'rt  inclined, 
Keep  honest  Preston  daily  in  thy  mind. 
He  drew  good  wine,  took  care  to  fill  his  pots. 
Had  sundry  virtues  that  excused  his  faults. 
You  that  on  Bacchus  have  the  like  dependence. 
Pray  copy  Bob,  in  measure  and  attendance." 

Small  as  was  the  reward  of  Irving's  quest, 
a  still  more  barren  result  would  ensue  on  a 


38     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


modern  pilgrimage  to  the  Boar's  Head.  It  was 
still  a  tavern  in  1785,  for  a  chronicler  of  that 
date  described  it  as  having  on  each  side  of  the 
doorway  '^  a  vine  branch,  carved  in  wood,  ris- 
ing more  than  three  feet  from  the  ground, 
loaded  with  leaves  and  clusters ;  and  on  the  top 
of  each  a  little  Falstaff,  eight  inches  high,  in 
the  dress  of  his  day,"  But  Dame  Quickly 's 
forecast  of  declining  fortune  moved  on  to  its 
fulfilment.  In  the  last  stages  of  its  existence 
the  building  was  divided  into  two,  while  the 
carved  boar's  head  which  Irving  saw  still  re- 
mained as  the  one  sign  of  its  departed  glories. 
Finally  came  the  resolve  to  widen  the  approach 
to  London  Bridge  from  the  city  side,  and  the 
carrying  out  of  that  resolve  involved  the  sweep- 
ing away  of  the  Boar's  Head.  This  was  in 
1831,  and,  as  has  been  said,  the  only  relic  of  the 
ancient  tavern  is  that  carved  sign  in  the  Guild- 
hall Museum.  But  the  curious  in  such  matters 
may  be  interested  to  know  that  the  statue  of 
King  William  marks  approximately  the  spot  of 
ground  where  hover  the  immortal  memories  of 
Shakespeare,  and  Goldsmith,  and  Irving. 

Within  easy  distance  of  Eastcheap,  in  Upper 
Thames  Street,  which  skirts  the  river  bank, 
there  stood,  in  Shakespeare's  day  and  much 
later,  a  tavern  bearing  the  curious  name  of  the 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's    39 


Tliree  Cranes  in  tlie  Vintry.  John  Stow,  that 
zealous  topogi'apher  to  whom  the  historians  of 
London  owe  so  large  a  debt,  helps  to  explain 
the  mystery.  The  vintry,  he  tells  us,  was  that 
part  of  the  Thames  bank  where  ''  the  merchants 
of  Bordeaux  craned  their  wines  out  of  lighters 
and  other  vessels,  and  there  landed  and  made 
sale  of  them."  He  also  adds  that  the  Three 
Cranes'  lane  was  ''  so  called  not  only  of  a  sign 
of  three  cranes  at  a  tavern  door,  but  rather  of 
three  strong  cranes  of  timber  placed  on  the 
Vintry  wharf  by  the  Thames  side,  to  crane  up 
wines  there."  Earlier  than  the  seventeenth 
century,  however,  it  would  seem  that  one  crane 
had  to  suffice  for  the  needs  of  ''  the  merchants 
of  Bordeaux,"  and  then  the  tavern  was  known 
simply  as  the  Crane.  Two  references,  dated  re- 
spectively 1552  and  1554,  speak  of  the  sign  in 
the  singular.  Twenty  years  later,  however,  the 
one  had  become  three. 

Ben  Jonson,  whose  knowledge  of  London 
inns  and  taverns  was  second  only  to  that  of 
Pepys,  evidently  numbered  the  Three  Cranes 
in  the  Vintry  among  his  houses  of  call.  Of  two 
of  his  allusions  to  the  house  one  is  derogatory 
of  the  wit  of  its  patrons,  the  other  laudatory  of 
the  readiness  of  its  service.  ''  A  pox  o'  these 
pretenders  to  wit!"   runs   the  first  passage. 


40     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

**  Your  Three  Cranes,  Mitre,  and  Mermaid 
men!  Not  a  corn  of  true  salt,  not  a  grain  of 
right  mustard  amongst  them  all.''  And  here 
is  the  other  side  of  the  shield,  credited  to  Ini- 
quity in  ' '  The  Devil  is  an  Ass  ' ' ;  — 

"  Nay,  boy,  I  will  bring  thee  to  the  bawds  and  roysters 
At  Billingsgate,  feasting  with  claret-wine  and  oysters; 
From  thence  shoot  the  Bridge,  child,  to  the  Cranes  in 

the  Vintr}^, 
And  see  there  the  gimblets  how  they  make  their  entry." 

Of  course  Pepys  was  acquainted  with  the 
house.  He  had,  indeed,  a  savage  memory  of 
one  meal  under  its  roof.  It  was  all  owing  to 
the  marrying  proclivities  of  his  uncle  Fenner. 
Bereft  of  his  wife  on  the  last  day  of  August, 
that  easy-going  worthy,  less  than  two  months 
later,  was  discovered  by  his  nephew  in  an  ale- 
house, ^^  very  jolly  and  youthsome,  and  as  one 
that  I  believe  will  in  a  little  time  get  him  a 
wife.''  Pepys'  anticipation  was  speedily  real- 
ized. Uncle  Fenner  had  indulged  himself  with 
a  new  partner  by  the  middle  of  January,  and 
must  needs  give  a  feast  to  celebrate  the  event. 
And  this  is  Pepys'  frank  record  of  the  occa- 
sion: ^'  By  invitation  to  my  uncle  Fenner 's, 
where  I  found  his  new  wife,  a  pitiful,  old,  ugly, 
ill-bred  woman,  in  a  hatt,  a  midwife.     Here 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's    41 


were  many  of  his,  and  as  many  of  her  relatives, 
sorry,  mean  people;  and  after  choosing  our 
gloves,  we  all  went  over  to  the  Three  Cranes 
taverne,  and  (although  the  best  room  of  the 
house)  in  such  a  narrow  dogg-hole  we  were 
crammed,  (and  I  believe  we  were  near  forty) 
that  it  made  me  loath  my  company  and  victuals ; 
and  a  sorry,  poor  dinner  it  was.'* 

In  justice  to  the  Three  Cranes,  Pepys  must 
not  be  allowed  to  have  the  last  word.  That 
particular  dinner,  no  doubt,  owed  a  good  deal 
of  its  defects  to  the  atmosphere  and  the  com- 
pany amid  which  it  was  served.  At  any  rate, 
the  host  of  the  Black  Bear  at  Cumnor  —  he  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott 's  ' '  Kenilworth  ' '  —  was 
never  weary  of  praising  the  Three  Cranes, 
''  the  most  topping  tavern  in  London  '^  as  he 
emphatically  declared. 

No  one  can  glance  even  casually  over  a  list 
of  tavern  signs  without  observing  how  fre- 
quently the  numeral  ''  three  "  is  used.  Vari- 
ous explanations  have  been  offered  for  the  pro- 
pensity of  mankind  to  use  that  number,  one 
deriving  the  habit  from  the  fact  that  primitive 
man  divided  the  universe  into  three  regions, 
heaven,  earth,  and  water.  Pythagoras,  it  will 
be  remembered,  called  three  the  perfect  num- 
ber;   Jove  is  depicted  with  three-forked  light- 


42     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


ning;  Neptune  bears  a  trident;  Pluto  has  his 
three-headed  dog.  Again,  there  are  three 
Fates,  three  Furies,  three  Graces  and  three 
Muses.  It  is  natural,  then,  to  find  the  numeral 
so  often  employed  in  the  signs  of  inns  and 
taverns.  Thus  we  have  the  Three  Angels,  the 
Three  Crowns,  the  Three  Compasses,  the  Three 
Cups,  the  Three  Horseshoes,  the  Three  Tuns, 
the  Three  Nuns,  and  many  more.  In  the  city 
of  London  proper  the  Three  Cups  was  a  favour- 
ite sign  and  the  Three  Tuns  was  hardly  less 
popular.  There  were  also  several  Three  Nuns, 
the  most  famous  of  which  was  situated  in  Aid- 
gate  High  Street,  where  its  modern  representa- 
tive still  stands.  In  the  bygone  years  it  was  a 
noted  coaching  inn  and  enjoyed  an  enviable 
reputation  for  the  rare  quality  of  its  punch. 
Defoe  has  a  brief  reference  to  the  house  in 
his  ''  A  Journal  of  the  Plague  Year.'^ 

An  attempt  to  enumerate  the  King's  Head 
taverns  of  London  would  be  an  endless  task. 
It  must  not  be  overlooked,  however,  that  one  of 
the  most  notable  houses  so  named  stood  in  Fen- 
church  Street,  on  the  site  now  occupied  by  the 
London  Tavern.  This  is  the  tavern  for  which 
a  notable  historic  association  is  claimed.  The 
tradition  has  it  that  when  the  Princess  Eliza- 
beth, the  ^'  Good  Queen  Bess  ''  of  after  days. 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    43 


was  released  from  the  Tower  of  London  on 
May  19th,  1554,  she  went  first  to  a  neighbour- 
ing church  to  offer  thanks  for  her  deliverance, 
and  then  proceeded  to  the  King's  Head  to  en- 
joy a  somewhat  plebeian  dinner  of  boiled  pork 
and  pease-pudding.  This  legend  seems  to  ig- 
nore the  fact  that  the  freedom  of  the  Princess 
was  comparative  only;  that  she  was  at  that 
time  merely  removed  from  one  prison  to  an- 
other; and  that  the  record  of  her  movements 
on  that  day  speaks  of  her  taking  barge  at  the 
Tower  wharf  and  going  direct  to  Eichmond  en 
route  for  Woodstock.  However,  the  metal  dish 
and  cover  which  were  used  in  serving  that 
homely  meal  of  boiled  pork  and  pease-pudding 
are  still  shown,  and  what  can  the  stickler  for 
historical  accuracy  do  in  the  face  of  such  stub- 
bom  evidence? 

Two  other  Fenchurch  Street  taverns  have 
wholly  disappeared.  One  of  these,  the  Ele- 
phant, was  wont  to  claim  a  somewhat  dubious 
association  with  Hogarth.  The  artist  is  cred- 
ited with  once  lodging  under  the  Elephant's 
roof  and  with  embellishing  the  walls  of  the  tap- 
room with  pictures  in  payment  for  a  long  over- 
due bill.  The  subjects  were  said  to  have  in- 
cluded the  first  study  for  the  picture  which  af- 
terwards became   famous  under   the   title   of 


44     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


*'  Modern  Midnight  Conversation,''  but  treated 
in  a  much  broader  manner  than  is  shown  in  the 
well-known  print.  When  the  building  was 
pulled  down  in  1826  a  heated  controversy  arose 
concerning  these  Hogarth  pictures,  which  were 
removed  from  the  walls  and  exhibited  in  a 
Pall  Mall  gallery.  The  verdict  of  experts  was 
given  against  their  being  the  work  of  the  mas- 
ter for  whom  they  were  claimed.  The  other 
tavern  was  one  of  the  many  mitres  to  be  found 
in  London  during  the  seventeenth  century. 
The  host,  Dan  Eawlinson,  was  so  staunch  a 
royalist  that  when  Charles  I  was  executed  he 
hung  his  sign  in  mourning,  an  action  which 
naturally  caused  him  to  be  regarded  with  sus- 
picion by  the  Cromwell  party,  but  ''  endeared 
him  so  much  to  the  churchmen  that  he  throve 
amain  and  got  a  good  estate."  Something  of 
that  prosperity  was  due  no  doubt  to  the  excel- 
lent ''  venison-pasty  ''  of  which  Pepys  was  so 
fond.  But  Dan  Eawlinson  of  the  Mitre  had  his 
reverses  as  well  as  his  successes.  During  the 
dreaded  Plague  of  London  Pepys  met  an  ac- 
quaintance in  Fenchurch  Street  who  called  his 
attention  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Eawlinson 's  door 
was  shut  up.  ''  Why,''  continued  his  inform- 
ant,   ''  after    all    this    sickness,    and    himself 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's    45 

spending  all  the  last  year  in  the  country,  one 
of  his  men  is  now  dead  of  the  plague,  and  his 
wife  and  one  of  his  maids  sick,  and  himself 
shut  up.'^  Mrs.  Eawlinson  died  a  day  or  two 
later  and  the  maid  quickly  followed  her  mis- 
tress to  the  grave.  A  year  later  the  Mitre  was 
destroyed  in  the  Great  Fire  of  London  and 
Pepys  met  its  much-tried  owner  shortly  after 
^'  looking  over  his  ruins. '^  But  the  tavern  was 
rebuilt  on  a  more  spacious  scale,  and  Isaac 
Fuller  was  commissioned  to  adorn  its  walls 
with  paintings.  This  was  the  artist  whose 
fondness  of  tavern  life  prevented  him  from  be- 
coming a  great  painter.  The  commission  at 
the  Mitre  was  no  doubt  much  to  his  liking,  and 
Walpole  describes  in  detail  the  panels  with 
which  he  adorned  a  great  room  in  that  house, 
*^  The  figures  were  as  large  as  life:  a  Venus, 
Satyr,  and  sleeping  Cupid ;  a  boy  riding  a  goat 
and  another  fallen  down,  over  the  chimney: 
this  was  the  best  part  of  the  performance,  says 
Vertue:  Saturn  devouring  a  Child,  Mercury, 
Minerva,  Diana,  Apollo;  and  Bacchus,  Venus, 
and  Ceres  embracing;  a  young  Silenus  fallen 
down,  and  holding  a  goblet,  into  which  a  boy 
was  pouring  wine;  the  Scarons,  between  the 
windows,  and  on  the  ceiling  two  angels  support- 


46     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

ing  a  mitre,  in  a  large  circle."  The  execution 
of  all  this  must  have  kept  Fuller  for  quite  a 
long  time  amid  his  favourite  environment. 

One  of  the  lesser  known  Cock  taverns  of 
London  was  still  in  existence  in  Leadenhall 
Street  during  the  first  quarter  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. A  drawing  of  the  time  shows  it  to  have 
been  a  picturesque  building,  the  most  notable 
feature  being  that  the  window  lights  on  the 
first  floor  extended  the  entire  width  of  the 
front,  the  only  specimen  of  the  kind  then  re- 
maining in  London.  At  the  time  the  drawing 
was  made  that  particular  room  was  used  as  the 
kitchen.  From  the  dress  of  the  boys  of  the 
carved  brackets,  supporting  the  over-hanging 
upper  story,  it  has  been  inferred  that  the  house 
was  originally  a  charity  school.  Behind  the 
tavern  there  stood  a  brick  building  dated  1627, 
formerly  used  by  the  bricklayers*  company,  but 
in  1795  devoted  to  the  purposes  of  a  Jewish 
synagogue.  As  with  all  the  old  taverns  of  this 
sign,  the  effigy  of  the  bird  from  which  it  took 
its  name  was  prominently  displayed  in  front. 
Far  more  ancient  than  the  Cock  is  that  other 
Leadenhall  Street  tavern,  the  Ship  and  Turtle, 
which  is  still  represented  in  the  thoroughfare. 
The  claim  is  made  for  this  house  that  it  dates 
back  to  1377,  and  for  many  generations,  down, 


■•     ••  ^1 


COCK    INN,    LEADENHALL    STREET. 


.-  I 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    47 

indeed,  to  1835,  it  had  a  succession  of  widows 
as  hostesses.  The  modern  representative  of 
this  ancient  house  prides  itself  upon  the  quality 
of  its  turtle  soup  and  upon  the  fact  that  it  is  the 
meeting-place  of  numerous  masonic  lodges,  be- 
sides being  in  high  favour  for  corporation  and 
companies'  livery  dinners. 

If  the  pilgrim  now  turns  his  steps  toward 
Bishopsgate  Street  Within  —  the  '^Within'' 
signifying,  of  course,  that  that  part  of  the 
thoroughfare  was  inside  the  old  city  wall  —  he 
will  find  himself  in  a  neighbourhood  where 
many  famous  inns  once  stood.  Apart  from  the 
Wrestlers  and  the  Angel  which  are  mentioned 
by  Stow,  there  were  the  Flower  Pot,  the  White 
Plart,  the  Four  Swans,  the  Three  Nuns,  the 
Green  Dragon,  the  Ball,  and  several  more.  The 
reason  for  this  crowding  together  of  so  many 
hostelries  in  one  street  is  obvious.  It  was 
through  Bishop's  gate  that  the  farmers  of  the 
eastern  counties  came  into  the  city  and  they 
naturally  made  their  headquarters  in  the  dis- 
trict nearest  to  the  end  of  their  journey. 

For  many  years  the  White  Hart  maintained 
its  old-time  reputation  as  a  *^  fair  inn  for  the 
receipt  of  travellers."  That  it  was  an  ancient 
structure  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  when  it  was 
demolished,  the  date  of  1480  was  discovered  on 


48     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

one  of  its  half-timbered  bays.  The  present  up- 
to-date  White  Hart  stands  on  the  site  of  the 
old  inn. 

Far  greater  interest  attaches  to  the  Bull  inn, 
even  were  it  only  for  the  fact  of  its  association 
with  Thomas  Hobson,  the  Cambridge  carrier 
whom  Milton  made  famous.  In  the  closing 
years  of  the  sixteenth  century  the  house  ap- 
pears to  have  had  a  dubious  reputation,  for 
when  Anthony  Bacon  came  to  live  in  Bishops- 
gate  Street  in  1594  his  mother  became  exceed- 
ingly anxious  on  his  account,  fearing  "  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Bull  Inn.''  Perhaps, 
however,  the  distressed  mother  based  her  alarm 
on  the  dangers  of  play-acting,  for  the  house 
was  notable  as  the  scene  of  many  dramatic  per- 
formances. That  it  was  the  recognized  head- 
quarters for  Cambridge  carriers  is  shown  by 
an  allusion,  in  1637,  which  reads :  ' '  The  Blacke 
Bull  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  who  is  still  looking 
towards  Shoreditch  to  see  if  he  can  spy  the 
carriers  coming  from  Cambridge. ' '  Hobson,  of 
course,  was  the  head  of  that  fraternity.  He 
had  flourished  amazingly  since  he  succeeded  to 
his  father's  business  in  the  university  city,  and 
attained  that  position  of  independence  which 
enabled  him  to  force  the  rule  that  each  horse 
in  his  stable  was  to  be  hired  only  in  its  proper 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's    49 


turn,  thus  originating  the  proverb,  ''  Hobson's 
choice,"  that  is,  ''  this  or  none.''  Despite  his 
ever  growing  wealth  and  advanced  years.  Hob- 
son  continued  his  regular  journeys  to  London 
until  the  outbreak  of  the  plague  caused  the  au- 
thorities to  suspend  the  carrier  service  for  a 
time.  This  is  the  fact  upon  which  Milton  seized 
with  such  humourous  effect  in  his  poetical  epi- 
taph: 

''  Here  lies  old  Hobson.    Death  hath  broke  his  girt, 
And  here,  alas !  hath  laid  him  in  the  dirt ; 
Or  else,  the  ways  being  foul,  twenty  to  one 
He's  here  stuck  in  a  slough,  and  overthrown. 
'Twas  such  a  shifter  that,  if  trutli  were  known, 
Death  was  half  glad  when  he  had  got  him  down ; 
For  he  had  any  time  this  ten  years  full 
Dodged  with  him  betwixt  Cambridge  and  The  Bull. 
And  surely  Death  could  never  have  prevailed, 
Had  not  his  weekly  course  of  carriage  failed; 
But  lately,  finding  him  so  long  at  home, 
And  thinking  now  his  journey's  end  was  come, 
And  that  he  had  ta'en  up  his  latest  inn. 
In  the  kind  office  of  a  chamberlain. 
Showed  him  his  room  where  he  must  lodge  that  night. 
Pulled  off  his  boots,  and  took  away  the  light." 

Among  the  *^  Familiar  Letters  ''  of  James 
Howell  is  a  stately  epistle  addressed  ''  To  Sir 
Paul  Pindar,  Knight,''  who  is  informed  to  his 
face  that  of  all  the  men  of  his  times  he  is  ''  one 


50     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


of  the  greatest  examples  of  piety  and  constant 
integrity/'  and  is  assured  that  his  correspond- 
ent could  see  his  namesake  among  the  apostles 
saluting  and  solacing  him,  and  ensuring  that  his 
works  of  charity  would  be  as  a  ''  triumphant 
chariot  '^  to  carry  him  one  day  to  heaven.  But 
Sir  Paul  Pindar  was  more  than  benevolent ;  he 
was  a  master  in  business  affairs  and  no  mean 
diplomatist.  His  commercial  aptitude  he  put 
to  profitable  use  during  a  fifteen  years'  resi- 
dence in  Italy;  his  skill  as  a  negotiator  was 
tested  and  proved  by  nine  years'  service  in 
Constantinople  as  the  ambassador  of  James  I 
to  Turkey.  At  the  date  of  his  final  return  to 
England,  1623,  the  merchant  and  diplomat  was 
an  exceedingly  wealthy  man,  well  able  to  meet 
the  expense  of  that  fine  mansion  in  Bishopsgate 
Street  Without  which  perpetuated  his  name 
down  to  our  own  day.  In  its  original  state  Sir 
Paul  Pindar's  house,  both  within  and  without, 
was  equal  in  splendour  and  extent  to  any  man- 
sion in  London.  And,  as  may  be  imagined,  its 
owner  was  a  person  of  importance  in  city  and 
court  life.  One  of  his  possessions  was  a  great 
diamond  worth  thirty-five  thousand  pounds,  ^ 
which  James  I  used  to  borrow  for  state  occa- , 
sions.  The  son  of  that  monarch  purchased  this 
jewel  in  1625  for  about  half  its  value  and  sue- 


-     .      ..    .   ,     , 

•     <••*■     r        r 
r  '        '      < ,      I     ,         , 


PAUL    PINDAR    TAVERN. 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    51 


cessfully  deferred  payment  for  even  that  re- 
duced sum !  Sir  Paul,  indeed,  appears  to  liave 
been  a  complacent  lender  of  his  wealth  to  roy- 
alty and  the  nobility,  so  that  it  is  not  surpris- 
ing many  ''  desperate  debts  ''  were  owing  him 
on  his  death.  A  century  and  a  quarter  after 
that  event,  that  is  in  1787,  the  splendid  man- 
sion of  the  wealthy  merchant  and  diplomat  had 
become  a  tavern  under  the  names  of  its  builder, 
and  continued  in  that  capacity  until  1890,  when 
milway  extension  made  its  demolition  neces- 
sary. But  the  beautifully  carved  front  is  still 
preserved  in  the  South  Kensington  Museum. 

While  there  may  at  times  be  good  reason  for 
doubting  the  claims  made  as  to  the  antiquity 
of  some  London  taverns,  there  can  be  none  for 
questioning  the  ripe  old  age  to  which  the 
Pope's  Head  in  Cornhill  attained.  This  is  one 
of  the  few  taverns  which  Stow  deals  with  at 
length.  He  describes  it  as  being  ''  strongly 
built  of  stone,''  and  favours  the  opinion  that  it 
was  at  one  time  the  palace  of  King  John.  He 
tells,  too,  how  in  his  day  wine  was  sold  there  at 
a  penny  the  pint  and  bread  provided  free.  It 
was  destroyed  in  the  Great  Fire,  but  rebuilt 
shortly  after.  Pepys  knew  both  the  old  and 
the  new  house.  In  the  former  he  is  said  to  have 
drunk  his  first  ^'  dish  of  tea,"  and  he  certainly 


52     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

enjoyed  many  a  meal  under  its  roof,  notably  on 
that  occasion  when,  with  Sir  W.  Penn  and  Mrs. 
Pepys,  he  '^  eat  cakes  and  other  fine  things.'' 
Another,  not  so  pleasant,  memory  is  associated 
with  the  Pope's  Head.  Two  actors  figured  in 
the  episode,  James  Quin  and  William  Bowen, 
between  whom,  especially  on  the  side  of  the 
latter,  strong  professional  jealousy  existed. 
Bowen,  a  low  comedian  of  *^  some  talent  and 
more  conceit,"  taunted  Quin  with  being  tame 
in  a  certain  role,  and  Quin  retorted  in  kind,  de- 
claring that  Bowen 's  impersonation  of  a  char- 
acter in  '^  The  Libertine  "  was  much  inferior 
to  that  of  another  actor.  Bowen  seems  to  have 
had  an  ill-balanced  mind;  he  was  so  affected 
by  Jeremy  Collier's  ^'  Short  View  "  that  he 
left  the  stage  and  opened  a  cane  shop  in  Hol- 
born,  thinking  '^  a  shopkeeper's  life  was  the 
readiest  way  to  heaven."  But  he  was  on  the 
stage  again  in  a  year,  thus  resuming  the  career 
which  was  to  be  his  ruin.  For  so  thoroughly 
was  he  incensed  by  Quin's  disparagement  that 
he  took  the  earliest  opportunity  of  forcing  the 
quarrel  to  an  issue.  Having  invited  Quin  to 
meet  him,  the  two  appear  to  have  gone  from 
tavern  to  tavern  until  they  reached  the  Pope's 
Head.  Quin  was  averse  to  a  duel,  but  no  sooner 
had  the  two  entered  an  empty  room  in  the  Corn- 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    53 

hill  tavern  than  Bowen  fastened  the  door,  and, 
standing  with  his  back  against  it  and  drawing 
his  sword,  threatened  Quin  that  he  would  run 
him  through  if  he  did  not  draw  and  defend 
himself.  In  vain  did  Quin  remonstrate,  and  in 
the  end  he  had  to  take  to  his  sword  to  keep  the 
angry  Bowen  at  bay.  He,  however,  pressed  so 
eagerly  on  his  fellow  actor  that  it  was  not  long 
ere  he  received  a  mortal  wound.  Before  he 
died  Bowen  confessed  he  had  been  in  the  wrong, 
and  that  frank  admission  was  the  main  cause 
why  Quin  was  legally  freed  of  blame  for  the 
tragic  incident  in  the  Pope^s  Head. 

Although  there  was  a  Mermaid  tavern  in 
Cornhill,  it  must  not  be  confused  with  its  far 
more  illustrious  namesake  in  the  nearby  thor- 
oughfare of  Cheapside.  The  Cornhill  house 
was  once  kept  by  a  man  named  Dun,  and  the 
story  goes  that  one  day  when  he  was  in  the 
room  with  some  witty  gallants,  one  of  them, 
who  had  been  too  familiar  with  the  host's  wife, 
exclaimed,  **  I'll  lay  five  pounds  there's  a 
cuckold  in  this  company."  To  which  another 
immediately  rejoined,  *^  'Tis  Dun!  " 

Around  the  other  Mermaid  —  that  in  Cheap- 
side  —  much  controversy  has  raged.  One  dis- 
pute was  concerned  with  its  exact  site,  but  as 
the  building  disappeared  entirely  many  genera- 


64     Inns  and  Tavenis  of  Old  London 


tions  ago  that  is  not  a  matter  of  moment.  An- 
other cause  of  debate  is  found  in  that  passage 
of  Gifford's  life  of  Ben  Jonson  which  describes 
his  habits  in  the  year  1603.  ''  About  this 
time, ' '  Gifford  wrote,  ^ '  Jonson  probably  began 
to  acquire  that  turn  for  conviviality  for  which 
he  was  afterwards  noted.  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh, 
previously  to  his  unfortunate  engagement  with 
Cobham  and  others,  had  instituted  a  meeting  of 
beaux  esprit s  at  the  Mermaid,  a  celebrated  tav- 
ern in  Friday  Street.  Of  this  club,  which  com- 
bined more  talent  and  genius,  perhaps,  than 
ever  met  together  before  or  since,  our  author 
was  a  member;  and  here,  for  many  years,  he 
regularly  repaired  with  Shakespeare,  Beau- 
mont, Fletcher,  Selden,  Cotton,  Carew,  Martin, 
Donne,  and  many  others,  whose  names,  even  at 
this  distant'  period,  call  up  a  mingled  feeling 
of  reverence  and  respect."  Many  have  found 
this  flowing  narrative  hard  of  belief.  It  is 
doubted  whether  Gilford  had  any  authority  for 
mixing  up  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh  with  the  Mer- 
maid, and  there  are  good  grounds  for  believing 
that  Jonson 's  relations  with  Shakespeare  were 
not  of  an  intimate  character. 

All  the  same,  it  is  beyond  dispute  that  there 
were  rare  combats  of  wit  at  the  Mermaid  in 
Jonson 's  days  and  under  his  rule.    For  indis- 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's    55 


putable  witness  we  have  that  epistle  which 
Francis  Beaumont  addressed  to  Jonson  from 
some  country  retreat  whither  he  and  Fletcher 
had  repaired  to  work  on  two  of  their  comedies. 
Beaumont  tells  how  he  had  dreams  of  the  "  full 
Mermaid  wine,"  dwells  upon  the  lack  of  ex- 
citement in  his  rural  abode,  and  then  breaks 
out: 

"  Methinks  the  little  wit  I  had  is  lost 

Since  I  saw  you ;  for  wit  is  like  a  rest 

Held  up  at  tennis,  which  men  do  best 

With  the  best  gamesters.    What  things  have  we  seen 

Done  at  the  Mermaid!  heard  words  that  have  been 

So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 

As  if  that  every  one  (from  whence  they  came) 

Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 

And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 

Of  his  dull  life." 

That  poem  inspired  another  which  should 
always  be  included  in  the  anthology  of  the  Mer- 
maid.    More  than  two  centuries  after  Beau- 
mont penned  his  rhyming  epistle  to  Jonson 
three  brothers  had  their  lodging  for  a  brief 
season  in  Cheapside,  and  the  poetic  member  of 
the  trio  doubtless  mused  long  and  often  on 
those  kindred  spirits  who,  for  him  far  more 
than  for  ordinary  mortals,  haunted  the  spot 
where  the  famous  tavern  once  stood.    Thus  it 


56     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


came  about  that  John  Keats'  residence  in 
Oheapside  was  a  prime  factor  in  suggesting 
his  ^'  Lines  on  the  Mermaid  Tavern  '': 

"  Souls  of  poets  dead  and  gone, 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern. 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern? 
Have  ye  tippled  drink  more  fine 
Than  mine  host^s  Canary  wine? 
Or  are  fruits  of  Paradise 
Sweeter  than  those  dainty  pies 
Of  venison  ?    0  generous  food ! 
Drest  as  though  bold  Eobin  Hood 
Would,  with  his  maid  Marian, 
Sup  and  bowse  with  horn  and  can. 

"  I  have  heard  that  on  a  day 

Mine  host's  sign-board  flew  away, 

Nobody  knew  whither,  till 

An  Astrologer's  old  quill 

To  a  sheepskin  gave  the  story,  — 

Said  he  saw  you  in  your  glory. 

Underneath  a  new-old  sign 

Sipping  beverage  divine. 

And  pledging  with  contented  smack 

Tile  Mermaid  in  the  Zodiac. 

"  Souls  of  poets  dead  and  gone. 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern?" 


1  5 


r   <   (  € 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  Paul's    57 

Compared  with  the  Mermaid,  the  other  old 
taverns  of  Cheapside  make  a  meagre  showing 
in  history.  There  was  a  Mitre,  however,  which 
dated  back  to  1475  at  the  least,  and  had  the  rep- 
utation of  making  '  ^  noses  red  ^ ' ;  and  the  Bull 
Head,  whose  host  was  the  ^'  most  faithful 
friend  '^  Bishop  Ridley  ever  had,  and  was  the 
meeting-place  of  the  Eoyal  Society  for  several 
years;  and,  above  all,  the  Nag's  Head,  famous 
as  the  alleged  scene  of  the  fictitious  consecra- 
tion of  the  Elizabethan  bishops  in  1559.  There 
is  an  interesting  drawing  of  1638  depicting  the 
procession  of  Mary  de  Medici  in  Cheapside  on 
the  occasion  of  her  visit  to  her  daughter,  the 
wife  of  Charles  I.  This  animated  scene  is  his- 
torically valuable  for  the  record  it  gives  of 
several  notable  structures  in  the  thoroughfare 
which  was  at  that  time  the  centre  of  the  com- 
mercial life  of  London.  In  the  middle  of  the 
picture  is  an  excellent  representation  of  Cheap- 
side  Cross,  to  the  right  the  conduit  is  seen,  and 
in  the  extreme  corner  of  the  drawing  is  a  por- 
tion of  the  Nag's  Head  with  its  projecting  sign. 

Another  of  Ben  Jonson's  haunts  was  situ- 
ated within  easy  distance  of  the  Mermaid. 
This  was  the  Three  Tuns,  of  the  Guildhall 
Yard,  which  Herrick  includes  in  his  list  of  tav- 
erns favoured  by  the  dramatist. 


58     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

"  Ah  Ben ! 
Say  how  or  when 
Shall  we  thy  Guests, 
Meet  at  those  lyric  feasts 
Made  at  the  Sun, 
The  Dog,  the  Triple  Tunne; 
Where  we  such  clusters  had 
As  made  us  nobly  wild,  not  mad  ?  " 

Close  at  hand,  too,  in  Old  Jewry,  was  that 
Windmill  tavern,  of  which  Stow  wrote  that  it 
was  '^  sometime  the  Jews^  synagogue,  since  a 
house  of  friars,  then  a  nobleman's  house,  after 
that  a  merchant's  house,  wherein  mayoralties 
have  been  kept,  and  now  a  wine  tavern."  It 
must  have  been  a  fairly  spacious  hostelry,  for 
on  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  the  Emperor 
Charles  Y  in  1522  the  house  is  noted  as  being 
able  to  provide  fourteen  feather-beds,  and  sta- 
bling for  twenty  horses.  From  the  fact  that 
one  of  the  characters  in  **  Every  Man  in  His 
Humour  "  dates  a  letter  from  the  Windmill, 
and  that  two  of  the  scenes  in  that  comedy  take 
place  in  a  room  of  the  tavern,  it  is  obvious  that 
it  also  must  be  numbered  among  the  many 
houses  frequented  by  Jonson. 

One  dramatic  episode  is  connected  with  the 
history  of  the  Windmill.  In  the  early  years  of 
the    seventeenth   century   considerable    excite- 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauVs    59 

ment  was  aroused  in  Worcestershire  by  the  do- 
ings of  John  Lambe,  who  indulged  in  magical 
arts  and  crystal  glass  enchantments.    By  1622 
he  was  in  London,  and  numbered  the  king's 
favourite,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  among  his 
clients.    That  was  sufficient  to  set  the  populace 
against  him,  an  enmity  which  was  greatly  in- 
tensified by  strange  atmospheric  disturbances 
which  visited  London  in  June,  1628.     All  this 
was  attributed  to  Lambe 's  conjuring,  and  the 
popular  fury  came  to  a  climax  a  day  or  two 
later,  when  Lambe,  as  he  was  leaving  the  For- 
tune Theatre,  was  attacked  by  a  mob  of  ap- 
prentices.   He  fled  towards  the  city  and  finally 
took  refuge  in  the  Windmill.    After  affording 
the  hunted  man  haven  for  a  few  hours  the  host, 
in  view  of  the  tumult  outside,  at  length  turned 
him  into  the   street  again,  where  he  was   so 
severely   beaten   that   he    died   the    following 
morning.     A  crystal  ball  and  other  conjuring 
implements  were  found  on  his  person. 

Far  less  exciting  was  the  history  of  Pon- 
tack's,  a  French  ordinary  in  Abchurch  Lane 
which  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  social 
life  of  London  during  the  eighteenth  century. 
Britons  of  that  period  had  their  own  insular 
contempt  for  French  cookery,  as  is  well  illus- 
trated by  Rowlandson's  caricature  which,  with 


60     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

its  larder  of  dead  cats  and  its  coarse  revela- 
tion of  other  secrets  of  French  cuisine,  may  be 
regarded  as  typical  of  the  popular  opinion. 
But  Pontack  and  his  eating-house  flourished 
amazingly  for  all  that.  A  French  refugee  in 
London  in  1697  took  pride  in  the  fact  that 
whereas  it  was  difficult  to  obtain  a  good  meal 
elsewhere  ^^  those  who  would  dine  at  one  or 
two  guineas  per  head  are  handsomely  accom- 
modated at  our  famous  Pontack 's.'^  The 
owner  of  this  ordinary  is  sketched  in  brief  by 
Evelyn,  who  frequently  dined  under  his  roof. 
Under  date  July  13,  1683,  the  diarist  wrote: 
^ '  I  had  this  day  much  discourse  with  Monsieur 
Pontaq,  son  to  the  famous  and  wise  prime  Pres- 
ident of  Bordeaux.  This  gentleman  was  owner 
of  that  excellent  vignoble  of  Pontaq  and 
Obrien,  from  whence  come  the  choicest  of  our 
Bordeaux  wines;  and  I  think  I  may  truly  say 
of  him,  what  was  not  so  truly  said  of  St.  Paul, 
that  much  learning  had  made  him  mad.  He 
spoke  all  languages,  was  very  rich,  had  a  hand- 
some person,  and  was  well  bred;  about  forty- 
five  years  of  age.'' 

Hogarth,  it  will  be  remembered,  paid  Pon- 
tack a  dubious  compliment  in  the  third  plate 
of  his  Rake's  Progress  series.  The  room  of 
that  boisterous  scene  is  adorned  with  pictures 


o   c  o 


1   > 


A  FRENCH  ORDINARY  IN  LONDON. 

(From  a  Rowlandson  Caricature). 


Inns  and  Taverns  East  of  St.  PauPs    61 


of  the  Eoman  Emperors,  one  of  which  has  been 
removed  to  give  place  to  the  portrait  of  Pon- 
tack,  who  is  described  by  a  Hogarth  commenta- 
tor as  ^'  an  eminent  French  cook,  whose  great 
talents  being  turned  to  heightening   sensual, 
rather  than  mental  enjoyments,  has  a  much 
better  chance  of  a  votive  offering  from  this 
company,  than  would  either  Vespasian  or  Tra- 
jan/*   These  advertisements,  however,  were  all 
to  the  good  of  the  house.     They  were  exactly 
of  the  kind  to  attract  the  most  profitable  type 
of  customer.    Those  customers  might  grumble, 
as  Swift  did,  at  the  prices,  but  they  all  agreed 
that   they   enjoyed  very   good   dinners.     The 
poet,  indeed,  expressed  the  unanimous  verdict 
of  the  town  when  he  asked : 

«  What  wretch  would  nibble  on  a  hanging  shelf, 
When  at  Pontack's  he  may  regale  himself  ? '' 


CHAPTER   ni 

TAVERNS  OF  FLEET  STREET  AND  THEREABOUTS 

Save  for  the  High  Street  of  Southwark,  there 
was  probably  no  thoroughfare  of  old  London 
which  could  boast  so  many  inns  and  taverns 
to  the  square  yard  as  Fleet  Street,  but  ere  the 
pilgrim  explores  that  famous  neighbourhood  he 
should  visit  several  other  spots  where  notable 
hostelries  were  once  to  be  seen.  He  should,  for 
example,  turn  his  steps  towards  St.  Paul's 
Churchyard,  which,  despite  the  fact  that  it  was 
chiefly  inhabited  by  booksellers,  had  its  Queen's 
Arms  tavern  and  its  Goose  and  Gridiron. 

Memories  of  David  Garrick  and  Dr.  Johnson 
are  associated  with  the  Queen's  Arms.  This 
tavern  was  the  meeting-place  of  a  select  club 
formed  by  a  few  intimate  friends  of  the  ac- 
tor for  the  express  purpose  of  providing  them 
with  opportunities  to  enjoy  his  society.  Its 
members  included  James  Clutterback.  the  city 
merchant  who  gave  Garrick  invaluable  finan- 
cial aid  when  he  started  at  Drurv  Lane,  and 
John  Pater  son,  that  helpful  solicitor  whom  the 

62 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  63 

actor  selected  as  one  of  his  executors.  These 
admirers  of  '^  little  David  '*  were  a  temperate 
set;  '^  they  were  none  of  them  drinkers,  and 
in  order  to  make  a  reckoning  called  only  for 
French  wine.''  Johnson's  association  with  the 
house  is  recorded  by  Boswell  as  belonging  to 
the  year  1781.  ''  On  Friday,  April  6,"  he 
writes,  ^  ^  he  carried  me  to  dine  at  a  club  which, 
at  his  desire,  had  been  lately  formed  at  the 
Queen's  Arms  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard.  He 
told  Mr.  Hoole  that  he  wished  to  have  a  City 
Club  J  and  asked  him  to  collect  one;  but,  said 
he,  ^  Don't  let  them  be  patriots.'*  The  company 
were  to-day  very  sensible,  well-behaved  men." 
Which,  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  abstemi- 
ous nature  of  the  Garrick  club,  would  seem  to 
show  that  the  Queen's  Arms  was  an  exceed- 
ingly decorous  house. 

Concerning  the  Groose  and  Gridiron  only  a 
few  scanty  facts  have  survived.  Prior  to  the 
Great  Fire  it  was  known  as  the  Mitre,  but  on 
its  being  rebuilt  it  was  called  the  Lyre.  When 
it  came  into  repute  through  the  concerts  of  a 
favourite  musical  society  being  given  within  its 
walls,  the  house  was  decorated  with  a  sign  of 
Apollo's  lyre,  surmounted  by  a  swan.  This 
provided  too  good  an  opportunity  for  the  wits 
of  the  town  to  miss,  and  they  promptly  renamed 


64     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

a 

the  house  as  the  Goose  and  Gridiron,  which  re- 
calls the  facetious  landlord  who,  on  gaining 
possession  of  premises  once  used  as  a  music- 
house,  chose  for  his  sign  a  goose  stroking  the 
bars  of  a  gridiron  and  inscribed  beneath,  **  The 
Swan  and  Harp.'^  It  is  an  interesting  note  in 
the  history  of  the  St.  Paul's  Churchyard  house 
that  early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  on  the  re- 
vival of  Freemasonry  in  England,  the  Grand 
Lodge  was  established  here. 

Almost  adjacent  to  St.  PauPs,  that  is,  in 
Queen's  Head  Passage,  which  leads  from  Pa- 
ternoster Row  into  Newgate  Street,  once  stood 
the  famous  Dolly's  Chop  House,  the  resort  of 
Fielding,  and  Defoe,  and  Swift,  and  Dryden, 
and  Pope  and  many  other  sons  of  genius.  It 
was  built  on  the  site  of  an  ordinary  owned  by 
Richard  Tarleton,  the  Elizabethan  actor  whose 
playing  was  so  humorous  that  it  even  won  the 
praise  of  Jonson.  He  was  indeed  such  a  merry 
soul,  and  so  great  a  favourite  in  clown's  parts, 
that  innkeepers  frequently  had  his  portrait 
painted  as  a  sign.  The  chief  feature  of  the  es- 
tablishment which  succeeded  Tarleton 's  tavern 
appears  to  have  been  tlie  excellence  of  its  beef- 
steaks. It  should  also  be  added  that  they  were 
served  fresh  from  the  grill,  a  fact  which  is 
accentuated   by   the    allusion    which    Smollett 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  65 


places  in  one  of  Melford's  letters  to  Sir  Walkin 
Phillips  in  ^*  Humphry  Clinker '':  ''I  send 
you  the  history  of  this  day,  which  has  been  re- 
markably full  of  adventures ;  and  you  will  own 
I  give  you  them  like  a  beef-steak  at  Dolly's, 
hot  and  hot,  without  ceremony  and  parade.'' 

Out  into  Newgate  Street  the  pilgrim  should 
now  make  his  way  in  search  of  that  Salutation 
Tavern  which  is  precious  for  its  associations 
with  Coleridge  and  Lamb  and  Southey.  Once 
more,  alas !  the  new  has  usurped  the  place  of 
the  old,  but  there  is  some  satisfaction  in  being 
able  to  gaze  upon  the  lineal  successor  of  so 
noted  a  house.  The  Salutation  was  a  favourite 
social  resort  in  the  eighteenth  century  and  was 
frequently  the  scene  of  the  more  formal  dining 
occasions  of  the  booksellers  and  printers. 
There  is  a  poetical  invitation  to  one  such  func- 
tion, a  booksellers'  supper  on  January  19,  1736, 
which  reads : 

"You're  desired  on  Monday  next  to  meet 
'At  Salutation  Tavern,  ^^ewgate  Street, 
'Supper  will  be  on  table  just  at  eight.'' 

One  of  those  rhyming  invitations  was  sent  to 
Samuel  "Richardson,  the  novelist,  who  replied  in 
kind  r 


66     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


-3 


"  For  me  I^m  much  concerned  I  cannot  meet 
At  Salutation  Tavern,  Newgate  Street." 

Another  legend  credits  this  with  being  the 
house  whither  Sir  Christopher  Wren  resorted 
to  smoke  his  pipe  while  the  new  St.  PauPs  was 
being  built.  More  authentic,  however,  and  in- 
deed beyond  dispute,  are  the  records  which 
link  the  memories  of  Coleridge  and  Lamb  and 
Southey  with  this  tavern.  It  was  here  Southey 
found  Coleridge  in  one  of  his  many  fits  of  de- 
pression, but  pleasanter  far  are  the  recollec- 
tions which  recall  the  frequent  meetings  of 
Lamb  and  Coleridge,  between  whom  there  was 
so  much  in  common.  They  would  not  forget 
that  it  was  at  the  nearby  Christ's  Hospital 
they  were  schoolboys  together,  the  reminis- 
cences of  which  happy  days  coloured  the 
thoughts  of  Elia  as  he  penned  that  exquisite 
portrait  of  his  friend :  ^  ^  Come  back  into  mem- 
ory, like  as  thou  wert  in  the  day-spring  of  thy 
fancies,  with  hope  like  a  fiery  column  before 
thee  —  the  dark  pillar  not  yet  turned  —  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge  —  Logician,  Metaphysician, 
Bard!  —  How  have  I  seen  the  casual  passer 
through  the  cloisters  stand  still,  entranced  with 
admiration  to  hear  thee  unfold,  in  thy  deep  and 
sweet  intonations,  the  mysteries  of  Jamblichus, 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  67 


or  Plotinus,  or  reciting  Homer  in  his  Greek,  or 
Pindar  —  while  the  walls  of  the  old  Grey 
Friars  re-echoed  to  the  accents  of  the  inspired 
charity-boy!  "  As  Coleridge  was  the  elder  by 
two  years  he  left  Christ's  Hospital  for  Cam- 
bridge before  Lamb  had  finished  his  coui'se,  but 
he  came  back  to  London  now  and  then,  to  meet 
his  schoolmate  in  a  smoky  little  room  of  the 
Salutation  and  discuss  metaphysics  and  poetry 
to  the  accompaniment  of  egg-hot,  Welsh  rab- 
bits, and  tobacco.  Those  golden  hours  in  the 
old  tavern  left  their  impress  deep  in  Lamb's 
sensitive  nature,  and  when  he  came  to  dedicate 
his  works  to  Coleridge  he  hoped  that  some  of 
the  sonnets,  carelessly  regarded  by  the  general 
reader,  would  awaken  in  his  friend  '^  remem- 
brances which  I  should  be  sorry  should  be  ever 
totally  extinct  —  the  memory  *  of  summer  days 
and  of  delightful  years,'  even  so  far  back  as 
those  old  suppers  at  our  old  Salutation  Inn,  — 
when  life  was  fresh  and  topics  exhaustless  — 
and  you  first  kindled  in  me,  if  not  the  power, 
yet  the  love  of  poetry  and  beauty  and  kindli- 


ness." 


Continuing  westward  from  Newgate  Street, 
the  explorer  of  the  inns  and  taverns  of  old 
London  comes  first  to  Holborn  Viaduct,  where 
there  is  nothing  of  note  to  detain  him,  and  then 


68     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

reaches  Holborn  proper,  with  its  continuation 
as  High  Holborn,  which  by  the  time  of  Henry 
III  had  become  a  main  highway  into  the  city 
for  the  transit  of  wood  and  hides,  com  and 
cheese,  and  other  agricultural  products.  It 
must  be  remembered  also  that  many  of  the 
principal  coaches  had  their  stopping-place  in 
this  thoroughfare,  and  that  as  a  consequence 
the  inns  were  numerous  and  excellent  and  much 
frequented  by  country  gentlemen  on  their  visits 
to  town.  Although  those  inns  have  long  been 
swept  away,  the  quaint  half-timbered  buildings 
of  Staple  Inn  remain  to  aid  the  imagination  in 
repicturing  those  far-off  days  when  the  Dag- 
ger, and  the  Ked  Lion,  and  the  Bull  and  Gate, 
and  the  Blue  Boar,  and  countless  other  hostel- 
ries  were  dotted  on  either  side  of  the  street. 

With  the  first  of  these,  the  Dagger  Tavern, 
we  cross  the  tracks  of  Ben  Jonson  once  more. 
Twice  does  the  dramatist  allude  to  this  house  in 
*  *  The  Alchemist,  * '  and  the  revelation  that  Dap- 
per frequented  the  Dagger  would  have  con- 
veyed its  own  moral  to  seventeenth  century 
playgoers,  for  it  was  then  notorious  as  a  resort 
of  the  lowest  and  most  disreputable  kind.  The 
other  reference  makes  mention  of  ''  Dagger 
frumety,'^  which  is  a  reminder  that  this  house, 
as  was  the  case  with  another  of  like  name, 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  69 


prided  itself  upon  the  excellence  of  its  pies, 
which  were  decorated  with  a  representation  of 
a  dagger.  That  these  pasties  were  highly  ap- 
preciated i§  the  only  conclusion  which  can  be 
drawn  from  the  contemporary  exclamation, 
**  lai  not  take  thy  word  for  a  Dagger  pie,"  and 
from  the  fact  that  in  ''  The  Devil  is  an  Ass  " 
Jonson  makes  Iniquity  declare  that  the  'pren- 
tice boys  rob  their  masters  ind  ''  spend  it  in 
pies  at' the  Dagger  and  the  Woolsack. '^ 

A  second  of  these  Holborn  inns  bore  a  sign 
which  has  puzzled  antiquaries  not  a  little.    The 
name  was  given  ^s  the  Bull  and  Gate,  but  the 
actual  sign  was  said  to  depict  the  Boulogne 
Gate  at  Calais.    Here,  it  is  thought,  a  too  pho- 
netic pTonunciation  of  the  French  word  led  to 
the  contradiction  of  name  and  sign.    What  is 
more  to  the  point,  and  of  greater  interest,  is 
the    connection   Fielding   established   between 
Tom  Jones  and  the  Bull  and  Gate.    When  that 
hero  reached  London  in  his  search  after  the 
Irish  peer  who  brought  Sophia  to  town,  he  en- 
tered the  great  city  by  the  highway  which  is 
now  Gray's  Inn  Eoad,  and  at  once  began  his 
arduous    search.     But   without    success.     He 
prosecuted  his   enquiry   till   the   clock   struck 
eleven,  and  then  Jones'*'  at  last  yielded  to  the 
advice  of  Partridge,  and  retreated  to  the  Bull 


70     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

and  Gate  in  Holborn,  that  being  the  inn  where 
he  had  first  alighted,  and  where  he  retired  to 
enjoy  that  kind  of  repose  which  usually  attends 
persons  in  his  circumstances." 

No  less  notable  a  character  than  Oliver 
Cromwell  is  linked  in  a  dramatic  manner  with 
the  histories  of  the  Blue  Boar  and  the  Eed  Lion 
inns.  The  narrative  of  the  first  incident  is  put 
in  Cromwell's  own  mouth  by  Lord  Broghill, 
that  accomplished  Irish  peer  whose  conversion 
from  royalism  to  the  cause  of  the  Common- 
Avealth  was  accomplished  by  the  Ironsides  gen- 
eral in  the  course  of  one  memorable  interview. 
According  to  this  authority,  Cromwell  once  de- 
clared that  there  was  a  time  when  he  and  his 
party  would  have  settled  their  differences  with 
Charles  I  but  for  an  incident  which  destroyed 
their  confidence  in  that  monarch.  What  that 
incident  was  cannot  be  more  vividly  described 
than  by  the  words  Lord  Broghill  attributed  to 
Cromwell.  ^*  While  we  were  busied  in  these 
thoughts,'^  he  said,  **  there  came  a  letter  from 
one  of  our  spies,  who  was  of  the  king's  bed- 
chamber, which  acquainted  us,  tliat  on  that  day 
our  final  doom  was  decreed;  that  he  could  not 
possibly  tell  us  what  it  was,  but  we  might  find 
it  out,  if  we  could  intercept  a  letter,  sent  from 
the  king  to  the  queen,  wherein  he  declared  what 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  71 


he  would  do.  The  letter,  he  said,  was  sewed  up . 
in  the  skirt  of  a  saddle,  and  the  bearer  of  it 
would  come  with  the  saddle  upon  his  head, 
about  ten  of  the  clock  that  night,  to  the  Blue 
Boar  Inn  in  Holborn ;  for  there  he  was  to  take 
horse  and  go  to  Dover  with  it.  This  messenger 
knew  nothing  of  the  letter  in  the  saddle,  but 
some  persons  at  Dover  did.  We  were  at  Wind- 
sor, when  we  received  this  letter;  and  imme- 
diately upon  the  receipt  of  it,  Ireton  and  I  re- 
solved to  take  one  trusty  fellow  with  us,  and 
with  troopers'  habits  to  go  to  the  Inn  in  Hol- 
born; which  accordingly  we  did,  and  set  our 
man  at  the  gate  of  the  Inn,  where  the  wicket 
only  was  open  to  let  people  in  and  out.  Our 
man  was  to  give  us  notice,  when  any  one  came 
with  a  saddle,  whilst  we  in  the  disguise  of  com- 
mon troopers  called  for  cans  of  beer,  and  con- 
tinued drinking  till  about  ten  o'clock:  the  sen- 
tinel at  the  gate  then  gave  notice  that  the  man 
with  the  saddle  was  come  in.  Upon  this  we 
immediately  arose,  and,  as  the  man  was  leading 
out  his  horse  saddled,  came  up  to  him  with 
drawn  swords  and  told  him  that  we  were  to 
search  all  that  went  in  and  out  there ;  but  as  he 
looked  like  an  honest  man,  we  would  only 
search  his  saddle  and  so  dismiss  him.  Upon 
that  we  ungirt  the  saddle  and  carried  it  into 


72     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

the  stall,  where  we  had  been  drinking,  and  left 
the  horseman  with  our  sentinel:  then  ripping 
up  one  of  the  skirts  of  the  saddle,  we  there 
found  the  letter  of  which  we  had  been  in- 
formed :  and  having  got  it  into  our  own  hands, 
we  delivered  the  saddle  again  to  the  man,  tell- 
ing him  he  was  an  honest  man,  and  bid  him  go 
about  his  business.  The  man,  not  knowing 
what  had  been  done,  went  away  to  Dover.  As 
soon  as  we  had  the  letter  we  opened  it ;  in  which 
we  found  the  king  had  acquainted  the  queen, 
that  he  was  now  courted  by  both  the  factions, 
the  Scotch  Presbyterians  and  the  Army;  and 
which  bid  fairest  for  him  should  have  him ;  but 
he  thought  he  should  close  with  the  Scots, 
sooner  than  the  other.  Upon  this  we  took 
horse,  and  went  to  Windsor;  and  finding  we 
were  not  likely  to  have  any  tolerable  terms  with 
the  king,  we  immediately  from  that  time  for- 
ward resolved  his  ruin.'' 

As  that  scene  at  the  Blue  Boar  played  so  im- 
portant a  part  in  the  sequence  of  events  which 
were  to  lead  to  CromwelPs  attainment  of  su- 
preme power  in  England,  so  another  Holborn 
inn,  the  Red  Lion,  was  to  witness  the  final  act 
of  that  petty  revenge  which  marked  the  down- 
fall of  the  Commonwealth.  Perplexing  mys- 
tery surrounds  the  ultimate  fate  of  CromwelPs 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  73 

body,  but  the  record  runs  that  his  corpse,  and 
those  of  Ireton  and  Bradshaw,  were  ruthlessly 
torn  from  their  graves  soon  after  the  Kestora- 
tion  and  were  taken  to  the  Red  Lion,  whence, 
on  the  following  morning,  they  were  dragged 
on  a  sledge  to  Tyburn  and  there  treated  with 
the  ignominy  hitherto  reserved  for  the  vilest 
criminals.  All  kinds  of  legends  surround  these 
gruesome  proceedings.  One  tradition  will  have 
it  that  some  of  Cromwell's  faithful  friends 
rescued  his  mutilated  remains,  and  buried  them 
in  a  field  on  the  north  side  of  Holborn,  a  spot 
now  covered  by  the  public  garden  in  Red  Lion 
Square.  On  the  other  hand  grave  doubts  have 
been  expressed  as  to  whether  the  body  taken 
to  the  Red  Lion  was  really  that  of  Cromwell. 
One  legend  asserts  that  it  was  not  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey  but  sunk  in  the  Thames; 
another  that  it  was  interred  in  Naseby  field; 
and  a  third  that  it  was  placed  in  the  coffin  of 
Charles  I  at  Windsor. 

Impatient  though  he  may  be  to  revel  in  the 
multifarious  associations  of  Fleet  Street,  the 
pilgrim  should  turn  aside  into  Ludgate  Hill  for 
a  few  minutes  for  the  sake  of  that  Belle  Sauv- 
age  inn  the  name  of  which  has  been  responsible 
for  a  rich  harvest  of  explanatory  theory.  Ad- 
dison contributed  to  it  in  his  own  humorous 


74     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

way.  An  early  number  of  the  Spectator  was 
devoted  to  the  discussion  of  the  advisability  of 
an  office  being  established  for  the  regulation  of 
signs,  one  suggestion  being  that  when  the  name 
of  a  shopkeeper  or  innkeeper  lent  itself  to  ^ '  an 
ingenious  sign-post  "  full  advantage  should  be 
taken  of  the  opportunity.  In  this  connection 
Addison  offered  the  following  explanation  of 
the  name  of  the  Ludgate  Hill  inn,  which,  it  has 
been  shrewdly  conjectured  by  Henry  B.  Wheat- 
ley,  was  probably  intended  as  a  joke.  **  As  for 
the  bell-savage,  which  is  the  sign  of  a  savage 
man  standing  by  a  bell,  I  was  formerly  very 
much  puzzled  upon  the  conceit  of  it,  till  I  acci- 
dentally fell  into  the  reading  of  an  old  romance 
translated  out  of  the  French;  which  gives  an 
account  of  a  very  beautiful  woman  who  was 
found  in^a  wilderness,  and  is  called  in  the 
French  La  helle  Sauvage;  and  is  everj^where 
translated  by  our  countrymen  the  bell-savage. '  * 
Not  quite  so  poetic  is  the  most  feasible  ex- 
planation of  this  unusual  name  for  an  inn.  It 
seems  that  the  original  sign  of  the  house  was 
the  Bell,  but  that  in  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century  it  had  an  alternative  designation.  A 
deed  of  that  period  speaks  of  ''  all  that  tene- 
ment or  inn  with  its  appurtenances,  called 
Savage's  inn,  otherwise  called  the  Bell  on  the 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  75 


Hoop."  This  w*as  evidently  a  case  where  the 
name  of  the  host  counted  for  more  than  the 
actual  sign  of  the  house,  and  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing of  Savage's  Bell  may  easily  have  led  to  the 
perversion  into  Bell  Savage,  and  thence  to  the 
Frenchified  form  mostly  used  to-day. 

Leaving  these  questions  of  etymology  for 
more  certain  matters,  it  is  interesting  to  recall 
that  it  was  in  the  yard  of  the  Belle  Sauvage 
Sir  Thomas  Wyatt's  rebellion  came  to  an  in- 
glorious end.  That  rising  was  ostensibly  aimed 
at  the  prevention  of  Queen  Mary's  marriage 
with  a  prince  of  Spain,  and  for  that  reason 
won  a  large  measure  of  support  from  the  men 
of  Kent,  at  whose  head  Wyatt  marched  on  the 
capital.  At  London  Bridge,  however,  his  way 
was  blocked,  and  he  was  obliged  to  make  a  de- 
tour by  way  of  Kingston,  in  the  hope  of  enter- 
ing the  city  by  Lud  Gate.  But  his  men  became 
disorganized  on  the  long  march,  and  at  each 
stage  more  and  more  were  cut  off  from  the 
main  body  by  the  queen's  forces,  until,  by  the 
time  he  reached  Fleet  Street,  the  rebel  had  only 
some  three  hundred  followers.  ^^  He  passed 
Temple  Bar,"  wrote  Froude,  ^^  along  Fleet 
Street,  and  reached  Ludgate.  The  gate  was 
open  as  he  approached,  when  some  one  seeing 
a  number  of  men  coming  up,  exclaimed,  ^  These 


76     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


be  Wyatt's  antients.'  Muttered  curses  were 
heard  among  the  by-standers;  but  Lord  How- 
ard was  on  the  spot ;  the  gates,  notwithstand- 
ing the  murmurs,  were  instantly  closed;  and 
when  Wyatt  knocked,  Howard's  voice  an- 
swered, ^  Avaunt!  traitor;  thou  shalt  not 
come  in  here. '  ^  I  have  kept  touch, '  Wyatt  ex- 
claimed; but  his  enterj^rise  was  hopeless  now. 
He  sat  down  upon  a  bench  outside  the  Belle 
Sauvage  yard."  That  was  the  end.  His  fol- 
lowers scattered  in  all  directions,  and  in  a  little 
while  he  was  a  prisoner,  on  his  way  to  the 
Tower  and  the  block. 

More  peaceful  are  the  records  which  tell  how 
the  famous  carver  in  wood,  Grinling  Gibbons, 
and  the  notorious  quack,  Richard  Rock,  once 
had  lodgings  in  the  Belle  Sauvage  Yard,  and 
more  picturesque  are  the  memories  of  those 
days  when  the  inn  was  the  starting-place  of 
those  coaches  which  lend  a  touch  of  romance 
to  old  English  life.  Horace  Walpole  says  Gib- 
bons signalized  his  tenancy  by  carving  a  pot 
of  flowers  over  a  doorway,  so  delicate  in  leaf 
and  stem  that  the  whole  shook  with  the  motion 
of  the  carriages  passing  by.  The  quack,  into 
the  hands  of  whom  and  his  like  Goldsmith  de- 
clared all  fell  unless  they  were  ''  blasted  by 
lightning,  or  struck  dead  with  some  sudden  dis- 


j: 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  77 

III 

order,"  was  a  ^'  great  man,  short  of  stature, 
fat,''  and  waddled  as  lie  walked.  He  was 
**  usually  drawn  at  the  top  of  his  own  bills,  sit- 
ting in  his  arm-chair,  holding  a  little  bottle 
between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  surrounded 
with  rotten  teeth,  nippers,  pills,  packets,  and 
gallipots." 

From  the  Belle  Sauvage  to  the  commence- 
ment of  Fleet  Street  is  but  a  stone 's  throw,  but 
the  pilgrim  must  not  expect  to  find  any  memo- 
rials of  the  past  in  the  eastern  portion  of  that 
famous  thoroughfare.  The  buildings  here  are 
practically  all  modern,  many  of  them,  indeed, 
having  been  erectef""  in  the  last  decade.  As 
these  lines  are  being  written,  too,  the  announce- 
ment is  made  of  a  project  for  the  further  trans- 
formation of  the  street  at  the  cost  of  half  a 
million  pounds.  The  idea  is  to  continue  the 
widening  of  the  thoroughfare  further  west,  and 
if  that  plan  is  carried  out,  devastation  must 
overtake  most  of  the  ancient  buildings  which 
still  remain. 

By  far  the  most  outstanding  feature  of  the 
Fleet  Street  of  to-day  is  the  number  and  vari- 
ety of  its  newspaper  offices ;  two  centuries  ago 
it  had  a  vastly  different  aspect. 


a 


From  thence,  along  that  tip  ling  street. 
Distinguished  by  the  name  of  Fleet, 


78     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

Where  Tavern-Signs  hang  thicker  far. 
Than  Trophies  down  at  Westminster; 
And  ev'ry  Bacchanalian  Landlord 
Displays  his  Ensign,  or  his  Standard, 
Bidding  Defiance  to  each  Brother, 
As  if  at  Wars  with  one  another/' 

How  tlioroughly  the  highway  deserved  the 
name  of  ^'  tipling  street  ''  may  be  inferred 
from  the  fact  that  its  list  of  taverns  included 
but  was  not  exhausted  by  the  Devil,  the  King^s 
Head,  the  Horn,  the  Mitre,  the  Cock,  the  Bolt- 
in-Tun,  the  Rainbow,  the  Cheshire  Cheese,  Her- 
cules Pillars,  the  Castle,  the  Dolphin,  the  Seven 
Stars,  Dick's,  Nando 's,  and  Peele's.  No  one 
would  recognize  in  the  Anderton's  Hotel  of  to- 
day the  lineal  successor  of  one  of  these  ancient 
taverns,  and  yet  it  is  a  fact  that  that  establish- 
ment perpetuates  the  Horn  tavern  of  the  fif- 
teenth century.  In  the  early  seventeenth  cen- 
tury the  house  was  in  high  favour  with  the  legal 
fraternity,  but  its  patronage  of  the  present  time 
is  of  a  more  miscellaneous  character.  The 
present  building  was  erected  in  1880. 

Close  by,  a  low  and  narrow  archway  gives 
access  to  Wine  Office  Court,  a  spot  ever  mem- 
orable for  its  having  been  for  some  three  years 
the  home  of  Oliver  Goldsmith.  It  was  in  1760, 
when  in  his  thirty-second  year,  that  he  took 


(        <        ( 
'      r      , 


C       £,-    C      k 


THE    CHESHIRE    CHEESE  ENTRANCE    FROM    FLEET    STREET. 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  79 


lodgings  in  this  cramped  alleyway,  and  here  he 
remained,  toiling  as  a  journeyman  for  an  astute 
publisher,  until  towards  the  end  of  1762.     So 
improved  were  Goldsmith's  fortunes  in  these 
days  that  he  launched  out  into  supper  parties, 
one  of  which,  in  May,  1761,  was  rendered  mem- 
orable by  the  presence  of  Dr.  Johnson,  who  at- 
tired himself  with  unusual  care  for  the  occa- 
sion.    To  a  companion  who,  noting  the  new 
suit  of  clothes,  the  new  wig  nicely  powdered, 
and  all  else  in  harmony,  commented  on  his  ap- 
pearance, Johnson  rejoined,  ''  Why,  sir,  I  hear 
that  Goldsmith,  who  is  a  very  great  sloven, 
justifies  his  disregard  of  cleanliness  and  de- 
cency by  quoting  my  practice,  and  I  am  desirous 
this  night  to  show  him  a  better  example.''    The 
house  where  that  supper  party  was  held  has  dis- 
appeared, but  in  the  Cheshire  Cheese  nearby 
there  yet  survives  a  building  which  the  cen- 
turies have  spared. 

Exactly  how  old  this  tavern  is  cannot  be  de- 
cided. It  is  inevitable  that  there  must  have 
been  a  hostelry  on  this  spot  before  the  Great 
Fire  of  1666,  inasmuch  as  there  is  a  record  to 
show  that  it  was  rebuilt  the  following  year. 
Which  goes  to  show  that  the  present  building 
has  attained  the  ripe  age  of  nearly  two  and  a 
half  centuries.    No  one  who  explores  its  various 


80     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

apartments  will  be  likely  to  question  that  fact. 
Everything  about  the  place  wears  an  air  of 
antiquity,  from  the  quaint  bar-room  to  the  more 
private  chambers  upstairs.  The  chief  glory  of 
the  Cheshire  Cheese,  however,  is  to  be  seen 
downstairs  on  the  left  hand  of  the  principal 
entrance.  This  is  the  genuinely  old-fashioned 
eating-room,  with  its  rude  tables,  its  austere 
seats  round  the  walls,  its  sawdust-sprinkled 
floor,  and,  above  all,  its  sacred  nook  in  the  fur- 
ther right  hand  corner  which  is  pointed  out  as 
the  favourite  seat  of  Dr.  Johnson.  Above  this 
niche  is  a  copy  of  the  Eeynolds  portrait  of  the 
sturdy  lexicographer,  beneath  which  is  the  fol- 
lowing inscription:  ''  The  Favourite  Seat  of 
Dr.  Johnson.  Born  18th  Septr.,  1709.  Died 
13th  Deer.,  1784.  In  him  a  noble  understanding 
and  a  masterly  intellect  were  united  with  grand 
independence  of  character  and  unfailing  good- 
ness of  heart,  which  won  him  the  admiration 
of  his  own  age,  and  remain  as  recommendations 
to  the  reverence  of  posterity.  ^  No,  Sir !  there 
is  nothing  which  has  yet  been  contrived  by  man 
by  which  so  much  happiness  has  been  produced 
as  by  a  good  tavern.'  '' 

After  all  this  it  is  surprising  to  learn  that 
the  authority  for  connecting  Dr.  Johnson  with 
the  Cheshire  Cheese  rests  upon  a  somewhat  late 


4    »■*  J  ■';•'•' 


'  '  >   ) 


->.'  L   \ 


O 

o 
o 

O 

K 


B 
o 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  81 

tradition.  Boswell  does  not  mention  the  tavern, 
an  omission  which  is  accounted  for  by  noting 
that  ^'  BoswelPs  acquaintance  with  Johnson  be- 
gan when  Johnson  was  an  old  man,  and  when 
he  had  given  up  the  house  in  Gough  Square, 
and  Goldsmith  had  long  departed  from  Wine 
Office  Court.  At  the  best,''  this  apologist  adds, 
*^  Boswell  only  knew  Johnson's  life  in  widely 
separated  sections."  As  appeal  cannot,  then, 
be  made  to  Boswell  it  is  made  to  others.  The 
most  important  of  these  witnesses  is  a  Cyrus 
Jay,  who,  in  a  book  of  reminiscences  published 
in  1868,  claimed  to  have  frequented  the  Chesh- 
ire Cheese  for  fifty-five  years,  and  to  have 
known  a  man  who  had  frequently  seen  Johnson 
and  Goldsmith  in  the  tavern.  Another  writer 
has  placed  on  record  that  he  often  met  in  the 
tavern  gentlemen  who  had  seen  the  famous  pair 
there  on  many  occasions. 

Taking  into  account  these  traditions  and  the 
further  fact  that  the  building  supplies  its  own 
evidence  as  to  antiquity,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  the  Cheshire  Cheese  enjoys  an  enviable 
popularity  with  all  who  find  a  special  appeal 
in  the  survivals  of  old  London.  As  a  natural 
consequence  more  recent  writing  in  prose  and 
verse  has  been  bestowed  upon  this  tavern  than 
any  other  of  the  metropolis.    Perhaps  the  best 


82     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


of  the  many  poems  penned  in  its  praise  is  that 
''  Ballade  ''  written  by  John  Davidson,  the 
poet  whose  mysterious  disappearance  has 
added  so  sad  a  chapter  to  the  history  of  litera- 
ture. 

"  I  know  a  house  of  antique  ease 

Within  the  smoky  city's  pale, 
A  spot  wherein  the  spirit  sees 

Old  London  through  a  thinner  veil. 

The  modern  world  so  stiff  and  stale. 
You  leave  behind  you  when  you  please. 

For  long  clay  pipes  and  great  old  ale 
And  beefsteaks  in  the  '  Cheshire  Cheese.' 

**  Beneath  this  board  Burke's,  Goldsmith's  knees 
Were  often  thrust  —  so  runs  the  tale  — 

'Twas  here  the  Doctor  took  his  ease 
And  wielded  speech  that  like  a  flail 
Threshed  out  the  golden  truth.    All  hail, 

Great  souls !   that  met  on  nights  like  these 
Till  morning  made  the  candles  pale. 

And  revellers  left  the  '  Cheshire  Cheese.' 

"By  kindly  sense  and  old  decrees 

Of  England's  use  they  set  the  sail 
We  press  to  never-furrowed  seas. 

For  vision-worlds  we  breast  the  gale, 

And  still  we  seek  and  still  we  fail, 
For  still  the  *  glorious  phantom '  flees. 

Ah  well !  no  phantom  are  the  ale 
And  beefsteaks  of  the  '  Cheshire  Cheese.' 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  83 

"If  doubts  or  debts  thy  soul  assail, 

If  Fashion's  forms  its  current  freeze, 
Try  a  long  pipe,  a  glass  of  ale. 

And  supper  at  the  '  Cheshire  Cheese.' " 

While  the  Cheshire  Cheese  was  less  fortu- 
nate than  the  Cock  in  the  Fire  of  London,  the 
latter  house,  which  escaped  that  conflagration, 
has  fallen  on  comparatively  evil  days  in  mod- 
ern times.  In  other  words,  the  exterior  of  the 
original  building,  which  dated  from  early  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  was  demolished  in 
1888,  to  make  room  for  a  branch  establishment 
of  the  Bank  of  England.  Pepys  knew  the  old 
house  and  spent  many  a  jovial  evening  beneath 
its  roof.  It  was  thither,  one  April  evening  in 
1667,  that  he  took  Mrs.  Pierce  and  Mrs.  Knapp, 
the  latter  being  the  actress  whom  he  thought 
**  pretty  enough  "  besides  being  '^  the  most  ex- 
cellent, mad-humoured  thing,  and  sings  the 
noblest  that  ever  I  heard  in  my  life.''  The  trio 
had  a  gay  time ;  they  *  ^  drank,  and  eat  lobster, 
and  sang  ''  and  were  *^  mightily  merry."  By 
and  by  the  crafty  diarist  deleted  Mrs.  Pierce 
from  the  party,  and  went  off  to  Vauxhall  with 
the  fair  actress,  his  confidence  in  the  enterprise 
being  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  the  night 
was  ^^  darkish."  If  she  did  not  find  out  that 
excursion,  Mrs.  Pepys  knew  quite  enough  of 


84     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

her  husband's  weakness  for  Mrs.  Knapp  to  be 
justified  of  her  jealousy.  And  even  he  appears 
to  have  experienced  twinges  of  conscience  on 
the  matter.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why- 
he  took  his  wife  to  the  Cock,  and  *  ^  did  give  her 
a  dinner  *'  there.  Other  sinners  have  found  it 
comforting  to  exercise  repentance  on  the  scene 
of  their  offences?^ 

Judging  from  an  advertisement  which  was 
published  in  1665,  the  proprietor  of  the  Cock 
did  not  allow  business  to  interfere  with  pleas- 
ure. **  This  is  to  certify, '^  his  announcement 
ran,  ^^  that  the  master  of  the  Cock  and  Bottle, 
commonly  called  the  Cock  Alehouse,  at  Temple 
Bar,  hath  dismissed  his  servants,  and  shut  up 
his  house,  for  this  Long  Vacation,  intending 
(God  willing)  to  return  at  Michaelmas  next." 

But  the  tavern  is  prouder  of  its  association 
with  Tennyson  than  of  any  other  fact  in  its 
history.  The  poet  was  always  fond  of  this 
neighbourhood.  His  son  records  that  whenever 
he  went  to  London  with  his  father,  the  first 
item  on  their  programme  was  a  walk  in  the 
Strand  and  Fleet  Street.  ''  Instead  of  the 
stuccoed  houses  in  the  West  End,  this  is  the 
place  where  I  should  like  to  live,"  Tennyson 
would  say.  During  his  early  days  he  lodged 
in   Norfolk   Street   close  by,   dining  with   his 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  85 


friends  at  the  Cock  and  other  taverns,  but  al- 
ways having  a  preference  for  the  room  ^'  high 
over  roaring  Temple-bar.''  In  the  estimation  of 
the  poet,  as  his  son  has  chronicled,  ''  a  perfect 
dinner  was  a  beef-steak,  a  potato,  a  cut  of 
cheese,  a  pint  of  port,  and  afterwards  a  pipe 
(never  a  cigar).  When  joked  with  by  his 
friends  about  his  liking  for  cold  salt  beef  and 
new  potatoes,  he  would  answer  humorously, 
^  All  fine-natured  men  know  what  is  good  to 
eat.'  Very  genial  evenings  they  were,  with 
plenty  of  anecdote  and  wit. ' ' 

All  this,  especially  the  pint  of  port,  throws 
light  on  ^^  Will  Waterproof's  Lyrical  Mono- 
logue," which,  as  the  poet  himself  has  stated, 
was  '^  made  at  the  Cock."  Its  opening  apos- 
trophe is  familiar  enough: 

^'  0  plump  head-waiter  at  The  Cock, 
To  which  I  most  resort, 
How  goes  the  time?    ^Tis  five  o'clock. 
Go  fetch  a  pint  of  port." 

How  faithfully  that  waiter  obeyed  the  poet's 
injunction  to  bring  him  of  the  best,  all  readers 
of  the  poem  are  aware ; 


a 


The  pint,  yon  brought  me,  was  the  best 
That  ever  came  from  pipe.'' 


86     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

Undoubtedly.  As  witness  the  flights  of  fancy 
which  it  created.  Its  potent  vintage  trans- 
formed both  the  waiter  and  the  sign  of  the 
house  in  which  he  served  and  shaped  this  pretty 
legend. 

"  And  hence  this  halo  lives  about 

The  waiter's  hands,  that  reach 
To  each  his  perfect  pint  of  stout. 

His  proper  chop  to  each. 
He  looks  not  like  the  common  breed 

That  with  the  napkin  dally; 
I  think  he  came  like  Ganymede, 

From  some  delightful  valley. 

*^  The  Cock  was  of  a  larger  egg 

Than  modern  poultry  drop, 
Stept  forward  on  a  firmer  leg. 

And  cramm'd  a  plumper  crop; 
Upon  an  ^ampler  dunghill  trod, 

Crow'd  lustier  late  and  early, 
Sipt  wine  from  silver,  praising  God, 

And  raked  in  golden  barley. 

**A  private  life  was  all  his  joy. 

Till  in  a  court  he  saw 
A  something -pottle- bodied  boy 

That  knuckled  at  the  law : 
He  stoop'd  and  clutch'd  him,  fair  and  good, 

Flew  over  roof  and  casement: 
His  brothers  of  the  weather  stood 

Stock-still  for  sheer  amazement. 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  87 


"  But  he,  by  farmstead,  thorpe  and  spire. 

And  followed  with  acclaims, 
A  sign  to  many  a  staring  shire 

Came  crowing  over  Thames. 
Right  down  by  smoky  Paul's  they  bore. 

Till,  where  the  street  grows  straiter. 
One  fix'd  for  ever  at  the  door. 

And  one  became  head-waiter." 

Just  here  the  poet  bethought  himself.  It  was 
time  to  rein  in  his  fancy.  Truly  it  was  out  of 
place  to  make 

"  The  violet  of  a  legend  blow 
Among  the  chops  and  steaks." 

So  he  descends  to  more  mundane  things,  to 
moralize  at  last  upon  the  waiter's  fate  and  the 
folly  of  quarrelling  with  our  lot  in  life.  It  is 
interesting  to  learn  from  FitzGerald  that  the 
Cock's  plump  head-waiter  read  the  poem,  but 
disappointing  to  know  that  his  only  remark  on 
the  performance  was,  ' '  Had  Mr.  Tennyson 
dined  oftener  here,  he  would  not  have  minded 
it  so  much."  From  which  poets  may  learn  the 
moral  that  to  trifle  with  Jove's  cupbearer  in 
the  interests  of  a  tavern  waiter  is  liable  to  lead 
to  misunderstanding.  But  it  is,  perhaps,  of 
more  importance  to  note  that,  notwithstanding 
the  destruction  of  the  exterior  of  the  Cock  in 


88     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

1888,  one  room  of  that  ancient  building  was 
preserved  intact  and  may  be  found  on  the  first 
floor  of  the  new  house.  There,  for  use  as  well 
as  admiration,  are  the  veritable  mahogany 
boxes  which  Tennyson  knew,  — 


Old  boxes,  larded  with  the  steam 
Of  thirty  thousand  dinners  —  " 


and  not  less  in  evidence  is  the  stately  old  fire- 
place which  Pepys  was  familiar  with. 

Not  even  a  seat  or  a  fireplace  has  survived 
of  the  Mitre  tavern  of  Shakespeare's  days,  or 
the  Mitre  tavern  which  Boswell  mentions  so 
often.  They  were  not  the  same  house,  as  has 
sometimes  been  stated,  and  the  Mitre  of  to-day 
is  little  more  than  a  name-successor  to  either. 
Ben  Jonson's  plays  and  other  literature  of  the 
seventeenth  century  make  frequent  mention  of 
the  old  Mitre,  and  that  was  no  doubt  the  tavern 
Pepys  patronized  on  occasion. 

No  one  save  an  expert  indexer  would  have 
the  courage  to  commit  himself  to  the  exact 
number  of  Boswell's  references  to  the  Mitre. 
He  had  a  natural  fondness  for  the  tavern  as 
the  scene  of  his  first  meal  with  Johnson,  and 
with  Johnson  himself,  as  his  biographer  has 
explained,  the  place  was  a  first  favourite  for 
many  years.     ^'  I  had  learned,"  says  Boswell 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  89 

in  recording  the  early  stages  of  his  acquaint- 
ance with  his  famous  friend,  "  that  his  place 
of  frequent  resort  was  the  Mitre  Tavern  in 
Fleet  Street,  where  he  loved  to  sit  up  late,  and 
I  begged  I  might  be  allowed  to  pass  an  evening 
with  him  there,  which  he  promised  I  should. 
A  few  days  afterwards  I  met  him  near  Temple- 
bar,  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
asked  if  he  would  then  go  to  the  Mitre.  '  Sir,' 
said  he,  ^  it  is  too  late;  they  won't  let  us  in. 
But  I'll  go  with  you  another  night  with  all  my 
heart.'  "  That  other  night  soon  came.  Boswell 
called  for  his  friend  at  nine  o'clock,  and  the 
two  were  soon  in  the  tavern.  They  had  a  good 
supper,  and  port  wine,  but  the  occasion  was 
more  than  food  and  drink  to  Boswell.  ^'  The 
orthodox  high-church  sound  of  the  Mitre,  — 
the  figure  and  manner  of  the  celebrated  Samuel 
Johnson,  —  the  extraordinary  power  and  pre- 
cision of  his  conversation,  and  the  pride  arising 
from  finding  myself  admitted  as  his  companion, 
produced  a  variety  of  sensations,  and  a  pleas- 
ing elevation  of  mind  beyond  what  I  had  ever 
before  experienced." 

On  the  next  occasion  Goldsmith  was  of  the 
company,  and  the  visit  after  that  was  brought 
about  through  Boswell 's  inability  to  keep  his 
promise  to  entertain  Johnson  at  his  own  rooms. 


90     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

The  little  Scotsman  had  a  squabble  with  his 
landlord,  and  was  obliged  to  take  his  guest  to 
the  Mitre.  ^^  There  is  nothing/'  Johnson  said, 
**  in  this  mighty  misfortune;  nay,  we  shall  be 
better  at  the  Mitre/'  And  Boswell  was  char- 
acteristically oblivious  of  the  slur  on  his  gifts 
as  a  host.  But  that,  perhaps,  is  a  trifle  com- 
pared with  the  complacency  with  which  he  re- 
cords further  snubbings  administered  to  him  at 
that  tavern.  For  example,  there  was  that  rainy 
night  when  Boswell  made  some  feeble  com- 
plaints about  the  weather,  qualifying  them  with 
the  profound  reflection  that  it  was  good  for  the 
vegetable  creation.  *^  Yes,  sir,''  Johnson  re- 
joined, ^^  it  is  good  for  vegetables,  and  for  the 
animals  who  eat  those  vegetables,  and  for  the 
animals  who  eat  those  animals."  Then  there 
was  that  ^  other  occasion  when  the  note-taker 
talked  airily  about  his  interview  with  Kousseau, 
and  asked  Johnson  whether  he  thought  him  a 
bad  man,  only  to  be  crushed  with  Johnson's, 
*^  Sir,  if  you  are  talking  jestingly  of  this,  I 
don't  talk  with  you.  If  you  mean  to  be  serious, 
I  think  him  one  of  the  worst  of  men."  Severer 
still  was  the  rebuke  of  another  conversation  at 
the  Mitre.  The  ever-blundering  Boswell  rated 
Foote  for  indulging  his  talent  of  ridicule  at  the 
expense  of  his  visitors,  **  making  fools  of  his 


■,»     , 


DR.    SAMUEL    JOHNSON. 


t  C    ( 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  91 


company/'  as  lie  expressed  it.  ''  Sir/'  John- 
son said,  ''  he  does  not  make  fools  of  his  com- 
pany ;  they  whom  he  exposes  are  fools  already : 
he  only  brings  them  into  action." 

But,  if  only  in  gratitude  for  what  Boswell 
accomplished,  last  impressions  of  the  Mitre 
should  not  be  of  those  castigations.  A  far  pret- 
tier picture  is  that  which  we  owe  to  the  remi- 
niscences of  Dr.  Maxwell,  who,  while  assistant 
preacher  at  the  Temple,  had  many  opportuni- 
ties of  enjoying  Johnson's  company.  Dr.  Max- 
well relates  that  one  day  when  he  was  paying 
Johnson  a  visit,  two  young  ladies  from  the  coun- 
try came  to  consult  him  on  the  subject  of  Meth- 
odism, to  which  they  were  inclined.  '^  Come," 
he  said,  ''  you  pretty  fools,  dine  with  Maxwell 
and  me  at  the  Mitre,  and  we  will  take  over  that 
subject."  Away  they  went,  and  after  dinner 
Johnson  ''  took  one  of  them  upon  his  knee,  and 
fondled  her  for  half  an  hour  together."  Dante 
Gnabriel  Eossetti  chose  that  incident  for  a  pic- 
ture, but  neither  his  canvas  nor  Dr.  Maxwell's 
record  enlightens  us  as  to  whether  the  *'  pretty 
fools  "  were  preserved  to  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. But  it  was  a  happy  evening  —  especially 
for  Dr.  Johnson. 

As  with  the  Cock,  a  part  of  the  interior  of 
the  Eainbow  Tavern  dates  back  more  than  a 


92     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


couple  of  centuries.  The  chief  interest  of  the 
Eainbow,  however,  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  was 
at  first  a  coffee-house,  and  one  of  the  earliest 
in  London.  It  was  opened  in  1657  by  a  barber 
named  James  Farr  who  evidently  anticipated 
more  profit  in  serving  cups  of  the  new  beverage 
than  in  wielding  his  scissors  and  razor.  He 
succeeded  so  well  that  the  adjacent  tavern- 
keepers  combined  to  get  his  coffee-house  sup- 
pressed, for,  said  they,  the  ' '  evil  smell  ^ '  of  the 
new  drink  '^  greatly  annoyed  the  neighbour- 
hood.'^ But  Mr.  Farr  prospered  in  spite  of 
his  competitors,  and  by  and  by  he  turned  the 
Eainbow  into  a  regular  tavern. 

No  one  who  gazes  upon  the  century-old  print 
of  the  King's  Head  can  do  other  than  regret  the 
total  disappearance  of  that  picturesque  build- 
ing. This 'tavern  stood  at  the  west  corner  of 
Chancery  Lane  and  is  believed  by  antiquaries 
to  have  been  built  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI. 
It  figures  repeatedly  in  ancient  engravings  of 
the  royal  processions  of  long-past  centuries,  and 
contributed  a  notable  feature  to  the  progress 
of  Queen  Elizabeth  as  she  was  on  her  way  to 
visit  Sir  Thomas  Gresham.  The  students  of 
the  Temple  hit  upon  the  effective  device  of  hav- 
ing several  cherubs  descend,  as  it  were,  from 
the  heavens,  for  the  purpose  of  presenting  the 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  93 


queen  with  a  crown  of  gold  and  laurels,  together 
with  the  inevitable  verses  of  an  Elizabethan 
ceremony,  and  the  roof  of  the  King's  Head  was 
chosen  as  the  heaven  from  whence  these  visit- 
ants came  down.  Only  the  first  and  second 
floors  were  devoted  to  tavern  purposes ;  on  the 
ground  floor  were  shops,  from  one  of  which  the 
first  edition  of  Izaak  Walton's  ''  Complete  An- 
gler ''  was  sold,  while  another  provided  accom- 
modation for  the  grocery  business  of  Abraham 
Cowley's  father. 

'  From  1679  the  King's  Head  was  the  common 
headquarters  of  the  notorious  Grreen  Ribbon 
Club,  which  included  a  precious  set  of  scoun- 
drels among  its  members,  chief  of  them  all  be-  u 
ing  that  astounding  perjurer,  Titus  Gates. 
Hence  the  tavern's  designation  as  a  ^*  Protest- 
ant house."    It  was  pulled  down  in  1799. 

Another  immortal  tavern  of  Fleet  Street,  the 
most  immortal  of  them  all,  Ben  Jonson's  Devil, 
has  also  utterly  vanished.  Its  full  title  was 
The  Devil  and  St.  Dunstan,  aptly  represented 
by  the  sign  depicting  the  saint  holding  the 
tempter  by  the  nose,  and  its  site,  appropriately 
enough,  was  opposite  St.  Dunstan 's  Church,  on 
the  south  side  of  Fleet  Street  and  close  to  Tem- 
ple-bar. One  of  Hogarth's  illustrations  to 
**  Hudibras  "  gives  a  glimpse  of  the  tavern,  but 


94     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


on  the  wrong  side  of  the  street,  as  is  so  common 
in  the  work  of  that  artist. 

No  doubt  the  Devil  had  had  a  protracted  ex- 
istence prior  to  Jonson's  day,  but  its  chief  title 
to  fame  dates  from  the  time  when  the  convivial 
dramatist  made  it  his  principal  rendezvous. 
The  exact  date  of  that  event  is  difficult  to  deter- 
mine. Nor  is  it  possible  to  explain  why  Jonson 
removed  his  patronage  from  the  Mermaid  in 
Cheapside  to  the  Devil  in  Fleet  Street.  The 
fact  remains,  however,  that  while  the  earlier 
period  of  his  life  has  its  focus  in  Cheapside  the 
later  is  centred  in  the  vicinity  of  Temple-bar. 

Perhaps  Jonson  may  have  found  the  accom- 
modation of  the  Devil  more  suited  to  his  needs. 
After  passing  through  those  years  of  opposi- 
tion which  all  great  poets  have  to  face,  there 
came  to  him  the  crown  of  acknowledged  leader- 
ship among  the  writers  of  his  day.  He  accepted 
it  willingly.  He  seems  to  have  been  tempera- 
mentally fitted  to  the  post.  He  was,  in  fact, 
never  so  happy  as  when  in  the  midst  of  a  group 
of  men  who  owned  his  pre-eminence.  ^Vhat 
was  more  natural,  then,  than  that  he  should 
have  conceived  the  idea  of  fonning  a  club? 
And  in  the  great  Apollo  room  at  the  Devil  he 
found  the  most  suitable  place  of  meeting.  Over 
the  door  of  this  room,  inscribed  in  gold  letters 


c        • 

f     f      (        f     (        f 


TABLET   AND    BUST    FROM    THE    DEVIL    TAVERN. 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  95 


on  a  black  ground,  this  poetical  greeting  was 
displayed. 

"  Welcome  all  who  lead  or  follow 
To  the  Oracle  of  Apollo  — 
Here  he  speaks  out  of  his  pottle, 
Or  the  tripos,  his  tower  bottle: 
All  his  answers  are  divine, 
Truth  itself  doth  flow  in  wine. 
Hang  up  all  the  poor  hop-drinkers, 
Cries  old  Sam,  the  king  of  skinkers; 
He  the  half  of  life  abuses, 
That  sits  watering  with  the  Muses. 
Those  dull  girls  no  good  can  mean  us; 
Wine  it  is  the  milk  of  Venus, 
And  the  poet's  horse  accounted : 
Ply  it,  and  you  all  are  mounted. 
^Tis  the  true  Phoebian  liquor. 
Cheers  the  brains,  makes  wit  the  quicker. 
Pays  all  debts,  cures  all  diseases. 
And  at  once  three  senses  pleases. 
Welcome  all  who  lead  or  follow. 
To  the  Oracle  of  Apollo." 

That  relic  of  the  Devil  still  exists,  carefully 
preserved  in  the  banking  establishment  which 
occupies  the  site  of  the  tavern^  and  with  it, 
just  as  zealously  guarded,  is  a  bust  of  Jonson 
which  stood  above  the  verses.  Inside  the 
Apollo  room  was  another  poetical  inscription, 
said  to  have  been  engraved  in  black  marble. 


96     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

These  verses  were  in  the  dramatist's  best 
Latin,  and  set  forth  the  rules  for  his  tavern 
academy.  Much  of  their  point  is  lost  in  the 
English  version,  which,  however,  deserves  quo- 
tation for  the  sake  of  the  inferences  it  suggests 
as  to  the  conduct  which  was  esteemed  ''  good 
form  "  in  Jonson's  club. 

"  As  the  fund  of  our  pleasure,  let  each  pay  his  shot, 
Except  some  chance  friend,  whom  a  member  brings 
in. 

Far  hence  be  the  sad,  the  lewd  fop,  and  the  sot; 
For  such  have  the  plagues  of  good  company  been. 


"  Let  the  learned  and  witty,  the  jovial  and  gay, 
The  generous  and  honest,  compose  our  free  state; 

And  the  more  to  exalt  our  delight  whilst  we  stay, 
Let  none  be  debarred  from  his  choice  female  mate. 

"  Let  no  scent  offensive  the  chamber  infest. 

Let  fancy,  not  cost,  prepare  all  our  dishes. 
Let  the  caterer  mind  the  taste  of  each  guest, 

And  the  cook,  in  his  dressing,  comply  with  their 
wishes. 

"  Let's  have  no  disturbance  about  taking  places, 
To  show  your  nice  breeding,  or  out  of  vain  pride. 

Let  the  drawers  be  ready  with  wine  and  fresh  glasses, 
Let  the  waiters  have  eyes,  though  their  tongues  must 
be  ty'd. 

"  Let  our  wines  without  mixture  or  stum,  be  all  fine, 
Or  call  up  the  master,  and  break  his  dull  noddle. 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  97 


Let  no  sober  bigot  here  think  it  a  sin. 

To  push  on  the  chirping  and  moderate  bottle. 

''  Let  the  contests  be  rather  of  books  than  of  wine. 
Let  the  company  be  neither  noisy  nor  mute, 

Let  none  of  things  serious,  much  less  of  divine, 
When  belly  and  head's  full  profanely  dispute. 

''  Let  no  saucy  fidler  presume  to  intrude. 

Unless  he  is  sent  for  to  vary  our  bliss. 
With  mirth,  wit,  and  dancing,  and  singing  conclude. 

To  regale  every  sense,  with  delight  in  excess. 

"  Let  raillery  be  without  malice  or  heat. 

Dull  poems  to  read  let  none  privilege  take. 
Let  no  poetaster  command  or  intreat 

Another  extempore  verses  to  make. 

"  Let  argument  bear  no  unmusical  sound, 

Nor  jars  interpose,  sacred  friendship  to  grieve. 

For  generous  lovers  let  a  corner  be  found, 

Where  they  in  soft  sighs  may  their  passions  relieve. 

«  Like  the  old  Lapithites,  with  the  goblets  to  fight, 
Our  own  'mongst  offences  unpardoned  will  rank. 

Or  breaking  of  windows,  or  glasses,  for  spight, 
And  spoiling  the  goods  for  a  rakehelly  prank. 

«  Whoever  shall  publish  what's  said,  or  what's  done. 
Be  he  banished  for  ever  our  assembly  divine. 

Let  the  freedom  we  take  be  perverted  by  none 
To  make  any  guilty  by  drinking  good  wine." 


98     Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

By  the  testimony  of  those  rules  alone  it  is 
easy  to  see  how  thoroughly  the  masterful  spirit 
of  Jonson  ruled  in  the  Apollo  room.  His  chair 
was  a  throne,  his  word  a  scejjtre  that  must  be 
obeyed.  This  impression  is  confirmed  by  many 
records  and  especially  by  Drummond^s  charac- 
ter sketch.  The  natural  consequence  was  that 
membership  in  the  Apollo  Club  came  to  be  re- 
garded as  an  unusual  honour.  There  appears 
to  have  been  some  kind  of  ceremony  at  the  in- 
itiation of  each  new  member,  which  gave  all  the 
greater  importance  to  the  rite  of  being  '  ^  sealed 
of  the  tribe  of  Ben. ' '  Long  after  the  dramatist 
was  dead,  his  ''  sons  '^  boasted  of  their  inti- 
macy with  him,  much  to  the  irritation  of  Dry- 
den  and  others.  While  he  lived,  too,  they  were 
equally  elated  at  being  admitted  to  the  inner 
circle  at  the  Devil,  and,  after  the  manner  of 
Marmion,  sung  the  praises  of  their  ^'  boon  Del- 
phic god,"  surrounded  with  his  ^*  incense  and 
his  altars  smoking." 

Incense  was  an  essential  if  Jonson  was  to 
be  kept  in  good  humour.  Many  anecdotes  tes- 
tify to  that  fact.  There  is  the  story  of  his  loss 
of  patience  with  the  country  gentleman  who 
was  somewhat  talkative  about  his  lands,  and 
his  interruption,  *^  Wliat  signifies  to  us  your 
dirt  and  your  clods?    Where  you  have  an  acre 


,    1  -<      ■> 


1         »i   • 


>    1   .    5  -.^ 


BEN    JONSON. 


t       c   »    e     , 
c     r     r    t    ' , 

r      t  I  .       \ 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  99 

of  land,  I  have  ten  acres  of  wit.''  And  Howell 
tells  of  that  supper  party  which,  despite  good 
company,  excellent  cheer  and  choice  wines,  was 
turned  into  a  failure  by  Jonson  engrossing  all 
the  conversation  and  ^'  vapouring  extremely  of 
himself  and  vilifying  others.''  Yet  there  were 
probably  few  of  his  own  circle,  the  **  sons  of 
Ben,"  who  would  have  had  it  otherwise.  Few 
indeed  and  fragmentary  are  the  records  of  his 
conversation  in  the  Apollo  room,  but  they  are 
sufficient  to  prove  how  ready  a  wit  the  poet 
possessed.  Take,  for  example,  the  story  of  that 
convivial  gathering  when  the  tavern  keeper 
promised  to  forgive  Jonson  the  reckoning  if 
he  could  tell  what  would  please  God,  please  the 
devil,  please  the  company,  and  please  him.  The 
poet  at  once  replied : 

"  God  is  pleased,  when  we  depart  from  sin, 
The  devil's  pleas'd,  when  we  persist  therein; 
Your  company^s  pleased,  when  you  draw  good  wine. 
And  thou'd  be  pleas'd,  if  I  would  pay  thee  thine." 

Some  austere  biographers  have  chided  the 
memory  of  the  poet  for  spending  so  much  of 
his  time  at  the  Devil.  They  forget,  or  are  ig- 
norant of  the  fact  that  there  is  proof  the  time 
was  well  spent.  In  a  manuscript  of  Jonson 
which  still  exists  there  are  many  entries  which 


/ 


100    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

go  to  show  that  some  of  his  finest  work  was 
inspired  by  the  merry  gatherings  in  the  Apollo 
room. 

For  many  years  after  Jonson's  death  the 
Devil,  and  especially  the  Apollo  room,  contin- 
ued in  high  favour  with  the  wits  of  London  and 
the  men  about  town.  Pepys  knew  the  house, 
of  course,  and  so  did  Evelyn,  and  Swift  dined 
there,  and  Steele,  and  many  another  genius  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  It  was  in  the  Apollo 
room,  too,  that  the  official  court-day  odes  of 
the  Poets  Laureate  were  rehearsed,  which  ex- 
plains the  point  of  the  following  lines : 

"  When  Laureates  make  odes,  do  von  ask  of  what  sort  ? 

Do  you  ask  if  they're  good  or  are  evil  ? 
You  may  Judge  —  From  the  Devil  they  come  to  the 
Court, 

And  go  from  the  court  to  the  Devil." 

But  the  Apollo  room  is  not  without  its  idyllic 
memory.  It  was  created  by  the  ever-delightful 
pen  of  Steele.  Who  can  forget  the  picture  he 
draws  of  his  sister  Jenny  and  her  lover  Tran- 
quillus  and  their  wedding  morning f  *'  The 
wedding,"  he  writes,  ^'  was  wholly  under  my 
care.  After  the  ceremonv  at  church,  I  resolved 
to  entertain  the  company  with  a  dinner  suitable 
to  the  occasion,  and  pitched  uj^on  the  Apollo, 


Taverns  of  Fleet  Street  101 

at  the  Old  Devil  at  Temple-bar,  as  a 'place?  sa- 
cred to  mirth  tempered  with  discretioti,  wh'2r3 
Ben  Jonson  and  his  sons  used  to  make  their 
liberal  meetings.  *'  The  mirth  of  that  assembly 
was  threatened  by  the  indiscretion  of  that 
double-meaning  speaker  who  is  usually  in  evi- 
dence at  such  gatherings  to  the  confusion  of  the 
bride,  but  happily  his  career  was  cut  short  by 
the  plain  sense  of  the  soldier  and  sailor,  as 
may  be  read  in  the  pages  of  the  '  ^  Tatler. ' ' 

Within  easy  hail  of  the  Devil,  on  the  site  now 
occupied  by  St.  Clement's  Chambers,  Dane's 
Inn,  there  stood  until  1853  a  quaint  old  hostelry 
known  as  the  Angel  Inn.  It  dated  from  the 
opening  years  of  the  sixteenth  century  at  least, 
for  it  is  specifically  named  in  a  letter  of  Feb- 
ruary 6th,  1503.  In  the  middle  of  that  century, 
too,  it  figures  in  the  progress  of  Bishop  Harper 
to  the  martyr's  stake,  for  it  was  from  this  inn 
that  prelate  was  taken  to  Gloucester  to  be 
burnt.  The  Angel  cannot  hope  to  compete  with 
the  neighbouring  taverns  of  Fleet  Street  on  the 
score  of  literary  associations,  but  the  fact  that 
seven  or  eight  mail  coaches  started  from  its 
yard  every  night  will  indicate  how  large  a  part 
it  played  in  the  life  of  old  London. 


»       t         < 


CHAPTER   IV 

TAVERNS    WEST   OF    TEMPLE   BAB 

Even  one  short  generation  ago  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  recognize  in  the  Strand  of  that 
period  any  resemblance  to  the  picture  of  that 
highway  given  by  Stow  at  the  dawn  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  Much  less  would  it  have 
been  possible  to  recall  its  aspect  in  those  ear- 
lier years  when  it  was  literally  a  strand,  that 
is,  a  low-lying  road  by  the  side  of  the  Thames, 
stretching  from  Temple-bar  to  Charing  Cross. 
'On  the  south  side  of  the  thoroughfare  were  the 
mansions  of  bishops  and  nobles  dotted  at 
sparse  intervals ;  on  the  north  was  open  coun- 
try. To-day  there  are  even  fewer  survivals  of 
the  past  than  might  have  been  seen  thirty  years 
ago.  The  wholesale  clearance  of  Holywell 
Street  and  the  buildings  to  the  north  has  com- 
pletely transformed  the  neighbourhood,  while 
along  the  southern  line  of  the  highway,  changes 
almost  equally  revolutionary  have  been  carried 
out.  As  a  consequence  the  inns  and  taverns 
of  the  Strand  and  the  streets  leading  therefrom 

102 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      103 


have  nearly  all  been  swept  away,  leaving  a  mod- 
ern representative  only  here  and  there. 
-    Utterly  vanished,  for  example,  leaving  not  a 
wreck  behind,  are  the  Spotted  Dog  and  the 
Craven  Head,  two  houses  more  or  less  associ- 
ated with  the  sporting  fraternity.    The  former, 
indeed,  was  a  favourite  haunt  of  prize-fighters 
and  their  backers ;  the  latter  was  notorious  for 
its  host,  Robert  Hales  by  name,  whose  unusual 
stature  —  he  stood  seven  feet  six  inches  —  en- 
abled him  ' '  to  look  down  on  all  his  customers, 
although  he  was  always  civil  to  them.''    When 
the  novelty  of  Hales'  physical  proportions  wore 
off,  and  trade  declined,  a  new  attraction  was 
provided  in  the  form  of  a  couple  of  buxom  bar- 
maids attired  in  bloomer  costume  —  importa- 
tions,   so    the    story    goes,    from    the    United 

States. 

A  far  more  ancient  and  reputable  house  was 
the  Crown  and  Anchor  which  had  entrances 
both  on  the  Strand  and  Arundel  Street.  It  is 
referred  to  by  Strype  in  his  edition  of  Stow, 
published  in  1720,  as  ^^  a  large  and  curious 
house,  with  good  rooms  and  other  conve- 
niences," and  could  boast  of  associations  with 
Johnson,  and  Boswell,  and  Reynolds.  Perhaps 
there  was  something  in  the  atmosphere  of  the 
place   which   tended   to   emphasize   Johnson's 


104   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


natural  argumentativeness;  at  any  rate  the 
Crown  and  Anchor  was  the  scene  of  his  dispute 
with  Reynolds  as  to  the  merits  of  wine  in  assist- 
ing conversation,  and  it  was  here  too  that  he 
had  his  famous  bout  with  Dr.  Percy.  Boswell 
describes  him  as  being  in  "  remarkable  vigour 
of  mind,  and  eager  to  exert  himself  in  conver- 
sation '^  on  that  occasion,  and  then  transcribes 
the  following  proof.  ^^  He  was  vehement 
against  old  Dr.  Mounsey,  of  Chelsea  College, 
as  *  a  fellow  who  swore  and  talked  bawdy.* 

*  I  have  been  often  in  his  company,'  said  Dr. 
Percy,  ^  and  never  heard  him  swear  or  talk 
bawdy.'  Mr.  Davies,  who  sat  next  to  Dr.  Percy, 
having  after  this  had  some  conversation  with 
him,  made  a  discovery  which  in  his  zeal  to  pay 
court  to  Dr.  Johnson,  he  eagerly  proclaimed 
aloud  from  the  foot  of  the  table:  '  Oh,  sir,  I 
have  found  out  a  very  good  reason  why  Dr. 
Percy  never  heard  Mounsey  swear  or  talk 
bawdy,  for  he  tells  me  he  never  saw  him  but 
at  the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  table.'  *  And 
so,  sir,'  said  Dr.  Jolmson  loudly  to  Dr.  Percy, 

*  you  would  shield  this  man  from  the  charge  of 
swearing  and  talking  bawdy,  because  he  did  not 
do  so  at  the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  table. 
Sir,  you  might  as  well  tell  us  that  you  had  seen 
him  hold  up  his  hand  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      105 

n  

he  neither  swore  nor  talked  bawdy;  or  that 
you  had  seen  him  in  the  cart  at  Tyburn,  and 
he  neither  swore  nor  talked  bawdy.  And  is  it 
thus,  sir,  that  you  presume  to  controvert  what 
I  have  related?  '  Dr.  Johnson's  animadversion 
was  uttered  in  such  a  manner,  that  Dr.  Percy 
seemed  to  be  displeased,  and  soon  after  left  the 
company,  of  which  Johnson  did  not  at  that  time 
take  any  notice. ' '  Nor  did  the  following  morn- 
ing bring  any  regret.  ^^  Well,''  said  he  when 
Boswell  called,  ^'  we  had  good  talk."  And 
Boswell's  ^^  Yes,  sir;  you  tossed  and  gored 
several  persons  "  no  doubt  gave  him  much 
pleasure. 

When  the  Crown  and  Anchor  was  rebuilt  in 
1790  the  accommodation  of  the  tavern  was  ma- 
terially increased  by  the  erection  of  a  large 
room  suitable  for  important  public  occasions 
and  capable  of  seating  upwards  of  two  thou- 
sand persons.  That  room  was  but  eight  years 
old  when  it  was  the  scene  of  a  remarkable  gath- 
ering. Those  were  stirring  times  politically, 
largely  owing  to  Fox's  change  of  party  and  to 
his  adhesion  to  the  cause  of  electoral  reform. 
Hence  the  banquet  which  took  place  at  the 
Crown  and  Anchor  on  January  24th,  1798,  in 
honour  of  Fox's  birthday.  The  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk presided  over  a  company  numbering  fully 


106   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

two  thousand  persons,  and  the  notable  men 
present  included  Sheridan  and  Home  Tooke. 
The  record  of  the  function  tells  how  ' '  Captain 
Morris''  —  elder  brother  of  the  author  of 
^^  Kitty  Crowder,"  and  a  song-writer  of  some 
fame  in  his  day  — '  ^  produced  three  new  songs 
on  the  occasion,"  and  how  ''  Mr.  Hovell,  Mr. 
Eobinson,  Mr.  Dignum,  and  several  other  gen- 
tlemen, in  the  different  rooms  sang  songs  ap- 
plicable to  the  fete/^  But  the  ducal  chairman's 
speech  and  the  toasts  which  followed  were  the 
features  of  the  gathering.  The  former  was 
commendably  brief.  ^^  We  are  met,"  he  said, 
^'  in  a  moment  of  most  serious  difficulty,  to  cele- 
brate the  birth  of  a  man  dear  to  the  friends  of 
freedom.  I  shall  only  recall  to  your  memory, 
that,  not  twenty  years  ago,  the  illustrious 
George  Washington  had  not  more  than  two 
thousand  men  to  rally  round  him  when  his  coun- 
try was  attacked.  America  is  now  free.  This 
day  full  two  thousand  men  are  assembled  in 
this  place.  I  leave  you  to  make  the  applica- 
tion. I  propose  to  you  the  health  of  Charles 
Fox." 

Then  came  the  following  daring  toasts : 

^^  The  rights  of  the  people." 

**  Constitutional  redress  of  the  wrongs  of 
the  people." 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      107 


'^  A  speedy  and  effectual  reform  in  the  rep- 
resentation of  the  people  in  Parliament.'' 

''  The  genuine  principles  of  the  British  con- 
stitution. ' ' 

*^  The  people  of  Ireland;  and  may  they  be 
speedily  restored  to  the  blessings  of  law  and 
liberty. ' ' 

And  when  the  chairman's  health  had  been 
drunk  ^'  with  three  times  three,"  that  noble- 
man concluded  his  speech  of  thanks  with  the 
words:  ^^  Before  I  sit  down,  give  me  leave  to 
call  on  you  to  drink  our  sovereign's  health: 
*  The  majesty  of  the  people.'  " 

Such  ''  seditious  and  daring  tendencies,"  as 
the  royalist  chronicler  of  the  times  described 
them,  could  not  be  overlooked  in  high  quarters, 
and  the  result  of  that  gathering  at  the  Crown 
and  Anchor  was  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  was 
dismissed  from  the  lord-lieutenancy  of  the  west 
riding  of  Yorkshire,  and  from  his  regiment  in 
the  militia.  It  would  have  been  a  greater  pun- 
ishment could  George  III  have  ordered  a  bath 
for  the  indiscreet  orator.  That  particular 
member  of  the  Howard  family  had  a  horror 
of  soap  and  water,  and  appears  to  have  been 
washed  only  when  his  servants  found  him  help- 
less in  a  drunken  stupor.  He  it  was  also  who 
complained  to  Dudley  North  that  he  had  vainly 


108   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


tried  every  remedy  for  rheumatism,  to  receive 
the  answer,  ''  Pray,  my  lord,  did  you  ever  try 
a  clean  shirt  1  ' ' 

In  that  district  of  the  Strand  known  as  the 
Adelphi  —  so  called  from  the  pile  of  buildings 
erected  here  in  1768  by  the  brothers  Adam  — 
there  still  exists  an  Adelphi  Hotel  which  may 
well  perpetuate  the  building  in  which  Gibbon 
found  a  temporary  home  in  1787.  Ten  years 
earlier  it  was  known  as  the  Adelphi  Tavern, 
and  on  the  thirteenth  of  January  was  the  scene 
of  an  exciting  episode.  The  chief  actors  in  this 
little  drama,  which  nearly  developed  into  a 
tragedy,  were  a  Captain  Stony  and  a  Mr.  Bates, 
the  latter  being  the  editor  of  The  Morning  Post. 
It  appears  that  that  journal  had  recently  pub- 
lished some  paragraphs  reflecting  on  the  char- 
acter of  a  lady  of  rank,  whose  cause,  as  the 
sequel  will  show.  Captain  Stony  had  good  rea- 
son for  making  his  own.  "Wliether  the  offend- 
ing editor  had  been  lured  to  the  Adelphi  igno- 
rant of  what  was  in  store,  or  whether  the  angry 
soldier  met  him  there  by  accident,  does  not 
transpire;  the  record  implies,  however,  that 
the  couple  had  a  room  to  themselves  in  which 
to  settle  accounts.  The  conflict  opened  with 
each  discharging  his  pistol  at  the  other,  but 
without  effect,  which  does  not  speak  well  for 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      109 

the  marksmanship  of  either.  Then  they  took 
to  their  swords,  with  the  result  of  the  captain 
receiving  wounds  in  the  breast  and  arm  and 
Mr.  Bates  a  thrust  in  the  thigh,  clearly  demon- 
strating that  at  this  stage  the  man  of  the  pen 
had  the  better  of  the  man  of  the  sword.  And 
he  maintained  the  advantage.  For  a  little  later 
the  editor's  weapon  ''  bent  and  slanted  against 
the  captain's  breast-bone."  On  having  his  at- 
tention called  to  the  fact  the  soldier  agreed  that 
Mr.  Bates  should  straighten  his  blade.  At  this 
critical  moment,  however,  while,  indeed,  the 
journalist  had  his  sword  under  his  foot,  the 
door  of  the  room  was  broken  open  and  the 
combatants  separated.  ^^  On  the  Sunday  fol- 
lowing," so  the  sequel  reads,  '^  Captain  Stony 
was  married  to  the  lady  in  whose  behalf  he 
had  thus  hazarded  his  life." 

Duels  were  so  common  in  those  days  that 
Gibbon  probably  heard  nothing  about  the  fight 
in  the  Adelphi  when  he  took  rooms  there  one 
hot  August  day  in  1787.  Besides,  he  had  more 
important  matters  to  occupy  his  thoughts. 
Only  six  weeks  had  passed  since,  between  the 
hours  of  eleven  and  twelve  at  night,  he  had, 
in  the  summer  house  of  his  garden  at  Laus- 
sanne,  written  the  last  sentence  of  "  The  De- 
cline and  Fall  of  the  Koman  Empire,"  and  now 


110   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

he  had  arrived  in  London  with  the  final  instal- 
ment of  the  manuscript  on  which  he  had  be- 
stowed the  labour  of  nearly  twenty  years.  The 
heightened  mood  he  experienced  on  the  com- 
pletion of  his  memorable  task  may  well  have 
persisted  to  the  hour  of  his  arrival  in  London. 
Some  reflection  of  that  feeling  perhaps  under- 
lay the  jocular  announcement  of  his  letter  from 
the  Adelphi  to  Lord  Sheffield,  wherein  he 
wrote:  ''•  Intelligence  Extraordinaky.  This 
day  (August  the  seventh)  the  celebrated  E.  G. 
arrived  with  a  numerous  retinue  (one  servant). 
We  hear  that  he  has  brought  over  from  Lau- 
sanne the  remainder  of  his  History  for  im- 
mediate publication.''  Gibbon  remained  at  the 
Adelphi  for  but  a  few  days,  after  which  the 
story  of  the  tavern  lapses  into  the  happiness 
which  is  supposed  to  accrue  from  a  lack  of  his- 
tory. 

Before  retracing  his  steps  to  explore  the 
many  interesting  thoroughfares  which  branch 
off  from  the  Strand,  the  pilgrim  should  con- 
tinue on  that  highway  to  its  western  extremity 
at  Charing  Cross.  The  memory  of  several 
famous  inns  is  associated  with  that  locality, 
including  the  Swan,  the  Golden  Cross,  Locket's, 
and  the  Eummer.  The  first  named  dated  from 
the  fifteenth  century.     It  survived  sufficiently 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      111 

long  to  be  frequented  by  Ben  Jonson  and  is  the 
subject  of  an  anecdote  told  of  that  poet.  Being 
called  upon  to  make  an  extemporary  grace  be- 
fore King  James,  and  having  ended  his  last 
line  but  one  with  the  word  ^  *  safe, ' '  Jonson  fin- 
ished with  the  words,  ^'  God  blesse  me,  and 
God  blesse  Raph/'  The  inquisitive  monarch 
naturally  wanted  to  know  who  Ralph  was,  and 
the  poet  replied  that  he  was  ^^  the  drawer  at 
the  Swanne  Taverne  by  Charing  Crosse,  who 
drew  him  good  Canarie.^'  It  is  feasible  to  con- 
clude that  no  small  portion  of  the  hundred 
pounds  with  which  the  king  rewarded  Jonson 
was  expended  on  that  *^  good  Canarie."  And 
perhaps  Ralph  was  not  forgotten. 

By  name,  at  any  rate,  the  Golden  Cross  is  still 
in  existence,  but  the  present  building  dates  no 
farther  back  than  1832.  Of  Locket's  ordinary, 
however,  no  present-day  representative  exists. 
When  Leigh  Hunt  wrote  ^^  The  Town  ''  he  de- 
clared that  it  was  no  longer  known  where  it 
exactly  stood,  but  more  recent  investigators 
have  discovered  that  Drummond's  banking 
house  covers  its  site. 

As  was  the  case  with  Pontack's  in  the  city. 
Locket's  was  pre-eminently  the  resort  of  the 
*^  smart  set."  The  prices  charged  are  proof 
enough  of  that,  even  though  they  were  not  al- 


112   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

ways  paid.  The  case  of  Sir  George  Ethrege 
is  one  in  point.  That  dissolute  dramatist  and 
diplomat  of  the  Restoration  period  was  a 
frequent  customer  at  Locket's  until  his  debt 
there  became  larger  than  his  means  to  dis- 
charge it.  Before  that  catastrophe  overtook 
him  he  was  the  principal  actor  in  a  lively  scene 
at  the  tavern.  Something  or  other  caused  an 
outbreak  of  fault-finding  one  evening,  and  the 
commotion  brought  Mrs.  Locket  on  the  scene. 
*^  We  are  all  so  provoked,"  said  Sir  George  to 
the  lady,  ^'  that  even  I  could  find  in  my  heart 
to  pull  the  nosegay  out  of  your  bosom,  and 
throw  the  flowers  in  your  face." 

Nor  was  that  the  only  humourous  threat 
against  Mrs.  Locket  from  the  same  mouth. 
Probably  because  he  was  so  good  a  customer 
and  an  influential  man  about  town,  his  indebt- 
edness to  the  ordinary  was  allowed  to  mount 
up  until  it  reached  a  formidable  figure.  And 
then  Sir  George  stopped  his  visits.  Mrs. 
Locket,  however,  sent  some  one  to  dun  him  for 
the  money  and  to  threaten  him  with  prosecu- 
tion. But  that  did  not  daunt  the  wit.  He  bade 
the  messenger  tell  Mrs.  Locket  that  he  would 
kiss  her  if  she  stirred  in  the  matter.  Sir 
George's  command  was  duly  obeyed.  It  stirred 
Mrs.  Locket  to  action.     Calling  for  her  hood 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      113 


and  scarf,  and  declaring  that  she  would  see  if 
'*  there  was  any  fellow  alive  that  had  the  im- 
pudence/' she  was  about  to  set  out  to  put  the 
matter  to  the  test  when  her  husband  restrained 
her  with  his  ''  Pr'ythee,  my  dear,  don't  be  so 
rash,  you  don't  know  what  a  man  may  do  in 
his  passion." 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  how  the  bill 
of  Sir  George  Ethrege  reached  such  alarming 
proportions.  ^*  They  shall  compose  you  a 
dish, "  is  a  contemporary  reference, ' '  no  bigger 
than  a  saucer,  shall  come  to  fifty  shillings." 
And  again, 

"  At  Locket's,  Brown's,  and  at  Pont^ck's  enquire 
What  modish  kickshaws  the  nice  beaux  desire, 
What  fam'd  ragouts,  what  new  invented  sallat, 
Has  best  pretensions  to  regale  the  palate." 

Adam  Locket,  the  founder  of  the  house,  lived 
until  about  1688,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  son 
Edward  who  was  at  the  head  of  affairs  until 
1702.  All  through  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  the 
ordinary  flourished,  but  after  her  death  refer- 
ences to  it  become  scanty  and  finally  it  disap- 
peared so  completely  that  Leigh  Hunt,  as  has 
been  said,  was  in  ignorance  as  to  its  site. 

And  Hunt  also  owned  to  not  knowing  the 
site  of  another  Charing  Cross  tavern,  the  Rum- 


114   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


mer.  As  a  matter  of  fact  that,  to  modern  ear, 
curiously-named  tavern  was  at  first  located  al- 
most next  door  to  Locket's,  whence  it  was  re- 
moved to  the  waterside  in  1710  and  burnt  down 
in  1750.  The  memory  of  the  tavern  would 
probably  have  sunk  into  oblivion  with  its 
charred  timbers,  save  for  the  accident  of  its 
connection  with  Matthew  Prior.  For  the  Rum- 
mer was  kept  by  an  uncle  of  the  future  poet, 
into  whose  keeping  he  is  supposed  to  have 
fallen  on  the  death  of  his  father.  One  cannot 
resist  the  suspicion  that  this  uncle,  Samuel 
Prior  by  name,  was  of  a  shifty  nature.  He 
had  serious  enemies,  that  is  certain.  The  best 
proof  of  that  fact  is  the  announcement  he  in- 
serted in  the  London  Gazette  offering  a  reward 
of  ten  guineas  for  the  discovery  of  the  persons 
who  sprea^d  the  report  that  he  was  in  league 
with  the  clippers  of  coin.  Then  there  is  the 
nephew's  portrait,  which  implies  that  his  tav- 
ern-keeping relative  was  an  adept  in  the  tricks 
of  his  trade. 

"  My  uncle,  rest  his  soul !   when  living, 
Might  have  contrived  me  ways  of  thriving; 
Taught  me  with  cider  to  replenish 
My  vats,  or  ebbing  tide  of  Rhenish ; 
So,  when  for  hock  I  drew  pricked  white-wine, 
Swear't  had  the  flavour,  and  was  right-wine." 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      115 


Destiny,  however,  had  decided  the  nephew's 
fate  otherwise.  The  Earl  of  Dorset,  so  the 
story  goes,  was  at  the  Eummer  with  a  party 
one  day  when  a  dispute  arose  over  a  passage 
in  Horace.  Young  Prior,  then  a  scholar  of 
Westminster,  was  called  in  to  decide  the  point, 
and  so  admirably  did  he  do  it  that  the  earl  im- 
mediately undertook  to  pay  his  expenses  at 
Cambridge.  He,  in  fact,  '^  spoiled  the  youth 
to  make  a  poet/'  Annotators  of  Hogarth  have 
pointed  out  that  the  scene  of  his  **  Night  "  pic- 
ture, was  laid  in  that  district  of  Charing  Cross 
where  Locket's  and  the  Rummer  were  situ- 
ated. 

Harking  back  now  to  Drury  Lane  the  ex- 
plorer finds  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  mem- 
ories of  many  daring  adventures.  The  Jacob- 
ites who  aimed  at  the  dethroning  of  William 
III  were  responsible  for  one  of  those  episodes. 
During  the  absence  of  that  monarch  they  tried 
to  raise  a  riot  in  London  on  the  birthday  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  Macaulay  tells  the  rest  of 
the  story.  *'  They  met  at  a  tavern  in  Drury 
Lane,  and,  when  hot  with  wine,  sallied  forth 
sword  in  hand,  headed  by  Porter  and  Goodman, 
beat  kettledrums,  unfurled  banners,  and  began 
to  light  bonfires.  But  the  watch,  supported  by 
the  populace,  was  too  strong  for  the  revellers. 


^^^' 


116    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

They  were  put  to  rout :  the  tavern  where  they 
had  feasted  was  sacked  by  the  mob:  the  ring- 
leaders were  apprehended,  tried,  fined,  and  im- 
prisoned, but  regained  their  liberty  in  time  to 
bear  a  part  in  a  far  more  criminal  design." 

Noisy  brawls  and  dark  deeds  became  com- 
mon in  Drury  Lane.  It  was  the  haunt  of  such 
quarrelsome  persons  as  that  Captain  Fantom, 
who,  coming  out  of  the  Horseshoe  Tavern  late 
one  night,  was  offended  by  the  loud  jingling 
spurs  of  a  lieutenant  he  met,  and  forthwith 
challenged  him  to  a  duel  and  killed  him.  And 
the  tavern-keepers  of  Drury  Lane  were  not 
always  model  citizens.  There  was  that  Jack 
Grimes,  for  example,  whose  death  in  Holland 
in  1769  recalled  the  circumstance  that  he  was 
known  as  ''  Lawyer  Grimes,'^  and  formerly 
kept  the  N'ag's  Head  Tavern  in  Princes'  Street, 
Drury  Lane,  ''  and  was  transported  several 
years  ago  for  fourteen  years,  for  receiving  fish, 
knowing  them  to  be  stolen.''  There  is,  how- 
ever, one  relieving  touch  in  the  tavern  history 
of  this  thoroughfare.  One  of  its  houses  of  pub- 
lic entertainment  was  the  meeting-place  of  a 
club  of  virtuosi,  for  whose  club-room  Louis  La- 
guerre,  the  French  painter  who  settled  in  Lon- 
don in  1683,  desigTied  and  executed  a  Baccha- 
nalian procession.    This  was  the  artist  who  was 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar       117 


coupled  with  Verrio   in   Pope's   depreciatory 
line, 

"  Where  sprawl  the  Saints  of  Verrio  and  Laguerre." 

Poets  and  prose  writers  alike  were  wont  to 
agree  in  giving  Catherine  Street  an  unenviable 
reputation.  Gay  is  specially  outspoken  in  his 
description  of  that  thoroughfare  and  the  class 
by  which  it  used  to  be  haunted.  It  was  in  this 
street,  too,  that  Jessop's  once  flourished,  ^^  the 
most  disreputable  night  house  of  London. '* 
That  nest  of  iniquity,  however,  has  long  been 
cleared  away,  and  there  are  no  means  of  iden- 
tifying that  tavern  of  which  Boswell  speaks. 
He  describes  it,  on  the  authority  of  Dr.  John- 
son, as  a  **  pretty  good  tavern,  where  very  good 
company  met  in  an  evening,  and  each  man 
called  for  his  own  half -pint  of  wine,  or  gill  if 
he  pleased ;  they  were  frugal  men,  and  nobody 
paid  but  for  what  he  himself  drank.  The  house 
furnished  no  supper;  but  a  woman  attended 
with  mutton  pies,  which  anybody  might  pur- 
chase.'' 

If  the  testimony  of  Pope  is  to  be  trusted,  the 
cuisine  of  the  Bedford  Head,  which  was  de- 
scribed in  1736  as  ^*  a  noted  tavern  for  eating, 
drinking,  and  gaming,  in  Southampton  Street, 
Covent  Garden,"  was  decidedly  out  of  the  or- 


118   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

dinary.  In  his  imitation  of  the  second  satire 
of  Horace  he  makes  Oldfield,  the  notorious 
glutton  who  exhausted  a  fortune  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year  in  the  ^^  simple  luxury  of 
good  eating,  ^ '  declare, 

"  Let  me  extol  a  Cat,  on  oysters  fed, 
1^11  have  a  party  at  the  Bedford-head.'^ 

And  in  another  poem  he  asks, 

, "  When  sharp  with  hunger,  scorn  you  to  be  fed, 
Eicept  on  pea-chicks  at  the  Bedford-head?  " 

There  is  an  earlier  reference  to  this  house  than 
the  one  cited  above,  for  an  advertisement  of 
June,  1716,  alludes  to  it  as  "  the  Duke  of  Bed- 
ford's Head  Tavern  in  Southampton  Street, 
Covent  Garden/'  Perhaps  the  most  notable 
event  in  its  history  was  it  being  the  scene  of 
an  abortive  attempt  to  repeat  in  1741  that  glori- 
fication of  Admiral  Vernon  which  was  a  great 
success  in  1740.  That  seaman,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, had  in  1739  kept  his  promise  to  cap- 
ture Porto  Bello  with  a  squadron  of  but  six 
ships.  That  the  capture  was  effected  with  the 
loss  of  but  seven  men  made  the  admiral  a  pop- 
ular hero,  and  in  the  following  year  his  birth- 
day was  celebrated  in  London  with  great  ac- 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      119 

claim.  But  in  1740  his  attempt  to  seize  Carta- 
gena ended  in  complete  failure,  and  another 
enterprise  against  Santiago  came  to  a  similar 
result.  All  this,  however,  did  not  daunt  his 
personal  friends,  who  wished  to  engineer 
another  demonstration  in  Vernon's  honour. 
Horace  Walpole  tells  how  the  attempt  failed. 
^^  I  believe  I  told  you,'*  he  wrote  to  one  of 
his  friends,  ^^  that  Vernon's  birthday  passed 
quietly,  but  it  was  not  designed  to  be  pacific; 
for  at  twelve  at  night,  eight  gentlemen  dressed 
like  sailors,  and  masked,  went  round  Covent 
Garden  with  a  drum  beating  for  a  volunteer 
mob;  but  it  did  not  take;  and  they  retired  to 
a  great  supper  that  was  prepared  for  them  at 
the  Bedford  Head,  and  ordered  by  Whitehead, 
the  author  of  ^  Manners.'  "  At  a  later  date  it 
was  the  meeting-place  of  a  club  to  which  John 
Wilkes  belonged. 

In  all  London  there  is  probably  no  thorough- 
fare of  equal  brief  length  which  can  boast  so 
many  deeply  interesting  associations  as  Maiden 
Lane,  which  stretches  between  Southampton 
and  Bedford  Streets  in  the  vicinity  of  Covent 
Garden.  Andrew  Marvell  had  lodgings  here  in 
1677 ;  Voltaire  made  it  his  headquarters  on  his 
visit  to  London  in  1727 ;  it  was  the  scene  of  the 
birth  of  Joseph   Mallord  William  Turner  in 


120   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

1775 ;  and  while  one  tavern  was  the  rendezvous 
of  the  conspirators  against  the  life  of  William 
III,  another  was  the  favourite  haunt  of  Rich- 
ard Porson,  than  whom  there  is  hardly  a  more 
illustrious  name  in  the  annals  of  English  clas- 
sical scholarship. 

While  the  name  of  the  conspirators^  tavern 
is  not  mentioned  by  Macaulay,  that  frequented 
by  Porson  had  wide  fame  under  the  sign  of  the 
Cider  Cellars.  It  had  been  better  for  the  great 
scholar's  health  had  nothing  but  cider  been 
sold  therein.  But  that  would  hardly  have 
suited  his  tastes.  It  is  a  kindly  judgment  which 
asserts  that  he  would  have  achieved  far  more 
than  he  actually  did  ' '  if  the  sobriety  of  his  life 
had  been  equal  to  the  honesty  and  truthfulness 
of  his  character.'*  All  accounts  agree  that  the 
charms  of  'his  society  in  such  gatherings  as 
those  at  the  Cider  Cellars  were  irresistible. 
'^  Nothing,"  was  the  testimony  of  one  friend, 
*^  could  be  more  gratifying  than  a  tete-a-tete 
with  him;  his  recitations  from  Shakespeare, 
and  his  ingenious  etymologies  and  dissertations 
on  the  roots  of  the  English  language  were  a 
high  treat."  And  another  declares  thpt  noth- 
ing '^  came  amiss  to  his  memory;  he  would  set 
a  child  right  in  his  twopenny  fable-book,  repeat 
the  whole  of  the  moral  tale  of  the  Dean  of 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      121 

Badajos,  or  a  page  of  Athenaeus  on  cups,  or 
Eustathius  on  Homer."  One  anecdote  tells  of 
his  repeating  the  ^  *  Rape  of  the  Lock, ' '  making 
observations  as  he  went  on,  and  noting  the 
various  readings.  And  an  intimate  friend  re- 
cords the  following  incident  connected  with  the 
tavern  he  held  most  in  regard.  *^  I  have  heard 
Professor  Porson  at  the  Cider  Cellars  in 
Maiden  Lane  recite  from  memory  to  delighted 
listeners  the  whole  of  Anstey's  ^  Pleaders' 
Guide.'  He  concluded  by  relating  that  when 
buying  a  copy  of  it  and  complaining  that  the 
price  was  very  high,  the  bookseller  said,  '  Yes, 
sir,  but  you  know  Law  books  are  always  very 
dear.'  " 

Somewhat  earlier  than  Porson 's  day  another 
convivial  soul  haunted  this  neighbourhood. 
This  was  George  Alexander  Stevens,  the  stroll- 
ing player  who  eventually  attained  a  place  in 
the  company  of  Covent  Garden  theatre.  He 
was  an  indifferent  actor  but  an  excellent  lec- 
turer. One  of  his  discourses,  a  lecture  on 
Heads,  was  immensely  popular  in  England,  and 
not  less  so  in  Boston  and  Philadelphia.  Prior 
to  the  affluence  which  he  won  by  his  lecture 
tours  he  had  frequently  to  do  *^  penance  in 
jail  for  the  debts  of  the  tavern."  He  was,  as 
Campbell  says,   a  leading  member  of  all  the 


122   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

■■  I  ■  ■■— ^^— ^^■^i— ■■■■  ■   I  ■  ■  I  II  II  ■■■■■  ■!  I  ii.^.^— —  ■^■-■^1  ■  — iMiPii   ■■  — la 

great  Bacchanalian  clubs  of  his  day,  and  had 
no  mean  gift  in  writing  songs  in  praise  of  hard 
drinking.  One  of  these  deserves  a  better  fate 
than  the  oblivion  into  which  it  has  fallen,  and 
may  be  cited  here  as  eminently  descriptive  of 
the  scenes  enacted  nightly  in  such  a  resort  as 
the  Cider  Cellars. 


"  Contented  I  am,  and  contented  I'll  be, 

For  what  can  this  world  more  afford. 
Than  a  lass  that  will  sociably  sit  on  my  knee. 

And  a  cellar  as  sociably  stored, 

My  brave  boys. 

*'  My  vault  door  is  open,  descend  and  improve, 

That  cask,  —  ay,  that  will  we  try. 
'Tis  as  rich  to  the  taste  as  the  lips  of  your  love. 

And  as  bright  as  her  cheeks  to  the  eye : 

My  brave  boys. 

"  In  a  piece  of  slit  hoop,  see  my  candle  is  stuck, 

'Twill  light  us  each  bottle  to  hand; 
The  foot  of  my  glass  for  the  purpose  I  broke. 

As  I  hate  that  a  bumper  should  stand. 

My  brave  boys. 

"  Astride  on  a  butt,  as  a  butt  should  be  strod, 

I  gallop  the  brusher  along; 
Like  a  grape-blessing  Bacchus,  the  good  fellow's  god. 

And  a  sentiment  give,  or  a  song. 

My  brave  boys. 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      123 

"  We  are  dry  where  we  sit,  though  the  coying  drops 
seem 
With  pearls  the  moist  walls  to  emboss; 
From  the  arch  mouldy  cobwebs  in  gothic  taste  stream. 
Like  stucco-work  cut  out  of  moss : 

My  brave  boys. 

"  When  the  lamp  is  brimful,  how  the  taper  flame  shines. 
Which,  when  moisture  is  wanting,  decays; 

Eeplenish  the  lamp  of  my  life  with  rich  wines, 
Or  else  there's  an  end  of  my  blaze. 

My  brave  boys, 

"  Sound  those  pipes,  they're  in  tune,  and  those  bins 
are  well  fill'd; 
View  that  heap  of  old  Hock  in  your  rear; 
Yon  bottles  are  Burgundy !    mark  how  they're  pil'd. 
Like  artillery,  tier  over  tier. 

My  brave  boys. 

"  My  cellar's  my  camp,  and  my  soldiers  my  flasks. 

All  gloriously  rang'd  in  review; 
When  I  cast  my  eyes  round,  I  consider  my  casks 

As  kingdoms  I've  yet  to  subdue. 

My  brave  boys. 

"  Like  Macedon's  Madman,  my  glass  I'll  enjoy, 

Defying  hyp,  gravel,  or  gout; 
He  cried  when  he  had  no  more  worlds  to  destroy, 

I'll  weep  when  my  liquor  is  out, 

My  brave  boys. 


124   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

"  On  their  stumps  some  have  fought,  and  as  stoutly 
will  I, 
When  reeling,  I  roll  on  the  floor; 
Then  my  legs  must  be  lost,  so  1^11  drink  as  I  lie. 
And  dare  the  best  Buck  to  do  more. 

My  brave  boys. 

"  'Tis  my  will  when  I  die,  not  a  tear  shall  be  shed, 

No  Hie  Jacet  be  cut  on  my  stone ; 
But  pour  on  my  coffin  a  bottle  of  red. 

And  say  that  his  drinking  is  done. 

My  brave  boys/' 


o 


Although  to-day  celebrated  chiefly  for  bein 
the  central  clearing-house  for  the  flower,  fruit 
and  vegetable  supply  of  London,  Covent  Gar- 
den as  a  whole  can  vie  with  any  other  district 
of  the  British  capital  in  wealth  of  interesting 
association.  The  market  itself  dates  from  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  but  the  area 
was  constituted  a  parish  a  few  years  earlier. 
By  that  time,  however,  it  could  boast  many 
town  residences  of  the  nobility,  and  several 
inns.  One  of  these  has  its  name  preserved  only 
in  the  records  of  the  House  of  Lords,  in  a  let- 
ter from  a  John  Button  at  Amsterdam,  who 
wrote  to  his  brother  '^  with  Mr.  Wm.  Wayte, 
at  the  sign  of  the  Horseshoe,  Covent  Grarden." 
But  the  taverns  of  greater  note,  such  as  Chate- 
laine's, the  Fleece,  the  Kose,  the  Hummums, 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      125 

*— ^"— ^*^™^*^'— '^^— — — — ^— — ^— *^— ^■^—  '  '  — W^^— J^— ^W^^—— ^^^— ^1^^— ^— —^1^^  ■■■■■■.■     11    IM     ■■■■■    MM^ 

and    Macklin^s    ill-fated    ordinary,    belong    to 
more  recent  times. 

Wliich  of  these  houses  was  first  established 
it  would  be  hard  to  say.  There  can  be  no  ques- 
tion, however,  that  Chatelaine's  ordinary  was 
in  great  repute  during  the  reign  of  Charles  II, 
and  that  it  continued  in  high  favour  throughout 
the  latter  years  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Pepys  alludes  to  it  in  1667  and  again  in  his 
entries  of  the  following  year.  On  the  second 
occasion  his  visit  interfered  with  toothsome 
purchases  he  was  making  for  a  dinner  at  his 
own  house.  ^'  To  the  fishmonger's,  and  bought 
a  couple  of  lobsters,  and  over  to  the  'sparagus 
garden,  thinking  to  have  met  Mr.  Pierce,  and 
his  wife,  and  Knipp;  but  met  their  servant 
coming  to  bring  me  to  Chatelin's,  the  French 
house,  in  Covent  Garden,  and  there  with  mu- 
sick  and  good  company,  Manuel  and  his  wife, 
and  one  Swaddle,  a  clerk  of  Lord  Arlington's, 
who  dances,  and  speaks  French  well,  but  got 
drunk,  and  was  then  troublesome,  and  here 
mighty  merry  till  ten  at  night.  This  night  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth  and  a  great  many  blades 
were  at  Chatelin's,  and  I  left  them  there,  with 
a  hackney-coach  attending  him."  This  was  a 
different  experience  than  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Pepys  on  the  previous  occasion,  for  he  tells 


126  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

how  the  dinner  cost  the  party  eight  shillings 
and  sixpence  apiece,  and  it  was  '^  a  base  din- 
ner, which  did  not  please  ns  at  all."  The  or- 
dinary was  evidently  in  the  same  class  as  Pon- 
tack's  and  Locket's,  as  may  be  inferred  from 
it  being  classed  with  the  latter  in  one  contem- 
porary reference : 

"  Next  these  we  welcome  such  as  firstly  dine 
At  Locket's,  at  Gifford's,  or  with  Shataline/' 

Allusions  in  the  plays  of  the  period  also  show 
it  was  the  resort  of  those  who  thought  quite 
as  much  of  spending  money  as  of  eating. 
Thus  Shadwell  makes  one  of  his  characters 
say  of  another  who  had  risen  in  life  that  he 
was  '^  one  that  the  other  day  could  eat  but  one 
meal  a  day,  and  that  at  a  threepenny  ordinary, 
now  struts  in  state  and  talks  of  nothing  but 
Shattelin's  and  Lefrond's.'^  And  another 
dramatist  throws  some  light  on  the  character 
of  its  frequenters  by  the  remark,  "  Come, 
prettie,  let's  go  dine  at  Chateline's,  and  there 
I'll  tell  you  my  whole  business." 

Far  less  fashionable  was  the  Fleece  tavern, 
where  Pepys  found  pleasant  entertainment  on 
several  occasions.  His  earliest  reference  to 
the  house  is  in  his  account  of  meeting  two  gen- 
tlemen who  told  him  how  a  Scottish  knight  was 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      127 

**  killed  basely  tlie  other  day  at  the  Fleece/' 
but  that  tale  did  not  prevent  him  from  visit- 
ing the  tavern  himself.  Along  with  a  *^  Cap- 
tain Cuttle  ^'  and  two  others  he  went  thither 
to  drink,  and  ''  there  we  spent  till  four  o'clock, 
telling  stories  of  Algiers,  and  the  manner  of 
life  of  slaves  there.''  And  then  he  tells  how 
one  night  he  dropped  in  at  the  Opera  for  the 
last  act  '^  and  there  found  Mr.  Sanchy  and 
Mrs.  Mary  Archer,  sister  to  the  fair  Betty, 
whom  I  did  admire  at  Cambridge,  and  thence 
took  them  to  the  Fleece  in  Covent  Garden ;  but 
Mr.  Sanchy  could  not  by  any  argument  get  his 
lady  to  trust  herself  with  him  into  the  taverne, 
which  he  was  much  troubled  at." 

Equally  lively  reputations  were  enjoyed  by 
the  Kose  and  the  Hummums.  The  former  was 
conveniently  situated  for  first-nighters  at  the 
King's  Playhouse,  as  Pepys  found  on  a  May 
midday  in  1668.  Anxious  to  see  the  first  per- 
formance of  Sir  Charles  Sedley's  new  play, 
which  had  been  long  awaited  with  great  ex- 
pectation, he  got  to  the  theatre  at  noon,  only 
to  find  the  doors  not  yet  open.  Gaining  admis- 
sion shortly  after  he  seems  to  have  been  con- 
tent to  sit  for  a  while  and  watch  the  gathering 
audience.  But  eventually  the  pangs  of  hunger 
mastered  him,  and  so,  getting  a  boy  to  keep 


128   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

liis  place,  he  slipped  out  to  '^  the  Rose  Tavern, 
and  there  got  half  a  breast  of  mutton  off  the 
spit,  and  dined  all  alone."  Twenty  years  later 
the  vicinity  of  the  Rose  gained  an  unenviable 
reputation.  ''  A  man  could  not  go  from  the 
Rose  Tavern  to  the  Piazza  once,  but  he  must 
venture  his  life  twice. '^  And  it  maintained 
that  reputation  well  into  the  next  century, 
growing  ever  more  and  more  in  favour  with 
the  gamblers  and  rufflers  of  the  times.  It  was 
at  the  bar  of  this  house  that  Hildebrand  Hor- 
den,  an  actor  of  talent  and  one  who  promised 
to  win  a  great  name,  was  killed  in  a  brawl. 
Colley  Gibber  tells  that  he  was  exceedingly 
handsome,  and  that  before  he  was  buried  ^'  it 
was  observable  that  two  or  three  days  together 
several  of  the  fair  sex,  well  dressed,  came  in 
masks,  and  some  in  their  own  coaches,  to  visit 
the  theatrical  hero  in  his  shroud." 

To  the  student  of  etymology  the  name  of  the 
Hummmns  tells  its  own  tale.  The  word  is  a 
near  approach  to  the  Arabic  ^*  Hammam," 
meaning  a  hot  bath,  and  hence  implies  an  es- 
tablishment for  bathing  in  the  Oriental  man- 
ner. The  tavern  in  Covent  Garden  bearing 
that  name  was  one  of  the  first  bathing  estab- 
lishments founded  in  England,  and  the  fact 
that  it  introduced  a  method  of  ablution  which 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      129 


had  its  origin  in  a  country  of  slavery  prompted 
Leigli  Hunt  to  reflect  that  Englishmen  need 
not  have  wondered  how  Eastern  nations  could 
endure  their  servitude.     ''  This  is  one  of  the 
secrets  by  which  they  endure  it.    A  free  man 
in  a  dirty  skin  is  not  in  so  fit  a  state  to  endure 
existence  as  a  slave  with  a  clean  one ;   because 
nature  insists  that  a  due  attention  to  the  clay 
which  our  souls  inhabit  shall  be  the  first  requi- 
site to  the  comfort  of  the  inliabitant.    Let  us 
not  get  rid  of  our  freedom;    let  us  teach  it 
rather  to  those  that  want  it;    but  let  such  of 
us  as  have  them,  by  all  means  get  rid  of  our 
dirty  skins.     There  is  now  a  moral  and  intel- 
lectual conunerce  among  mankind,  as  well  as 
an  interchange  of  inferior  goods;    we  should 
send  freedom  to  Turkey  as  well  as  clocks  and 
watches,  and  import  not  only  figs,  but  a  fine 

state  of  pores." 

John  Wolcot,  the  satirist  to  whom,  as  Peter 
Pindar,  nothing  was  sacred,  and  who  surely 
had  more  accomplishments  to  fall  back  upon 
than  ever  poet  had  before,  having  been  in  turns 
doctor,  clergyman,  politician  and  painter,  found 
a  congenial  resort  at  the  Hummums  when  he 
established  himself  in  London.  He  preserved 
the  memory  of  the  house  in  verse,  but  it  is  an 
open  question  whether  his  reflections  on  the 


I 


130    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

horrible  sounds  of  which  he  complains  should 
be  referred  to  Covent  Garden  or  to  the  city 
he  had  abandoned. 


"  In  Covent  Garden  at  the  Hummums,  now 
I  sit,  but  after  many  a  curse  and  vow, 

Never  to  see  the  madding  City  more ; 
Where  barrows  truckling  o'er  the  pavement  roll : 
And,  what  is  sorrow  to  a  tuneful  soul. 

Where  asses,  asses  greeting,  love  songs  roar: 
Which  asses,  that  the  Garden  square  adorn. 
Must  lark-like  be  the  heralds  of  my  morn/ 


y 


}f 


Those  love  songs  have  not  ceased  in  Covent 
Garden;  the  amorous  duets  are  to  be  heard 
to  this  day  from  the  throats  of  countless  cos- 
termongers'  donkeys.  But  they  disturb  Peter 
Pindar  ^s  tuneful  soul  no  more  as  he  lies  in  his 
grave  near  by. 

It  would  be  a  grave  injustice  to  the  Hum- 
mums  to  overlook  the  fact  that  it  possessed  a 
ghost-story  of  its  own.  Its  subject  was  Dr. 
Johnson's  cousin,  the  Parson  Ford  **  in  whom 
both  talents  and  good  dispositions  were  dis- 
graced by  licentiousness,''  and  the  story  was 
told  to  Boswell  by  Johnson  himself.  *^  A 
waiter  at  the  Hummums,"  Johnson  said,  **  in 
which  house  Ford  died,  had  been  absent  for 
some   time,   and   returned,   not   knowing   that 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      131 

Ford  was  dead.  Going  down  to  the  cellar,  ac- 
cording to  the  story,  he  met  him;  going  down 
again,  he  met  him  a  second  time.  When  he 
came  up  he  asked  some  of  the  people  of  the 
house  what  Ford  could  be  doing  there.  They 
told  him  Ford  was  dead.  The  waiter  took  a 
fever,  in  which  he  lay  for  some  time.  When 
he  recovered,  he  said  he  had  a  message  to  de- 
liver to  some  women  from  Ford;  but  he  was 
not  to  tell  what  or  to  whom.  He  walked  out; 
he  was  followed;  but  somewhere  about  St. 
PauPs  they  lost  him.  He  came  back  and  said 
he  had  delivered  it,  and  the  women  exclaimed, 
*  Then  we  are  all  undone!  '  Dr.  Pellet,  who 
was  not  a  credulous  man,  inquired  into  the 
truth  of  this  story,  and  he  said  the  evidence 
was  irresistible. ' '  A  tantalizing  ghost-story 
this,  and  one  that  begets  regret  that  the  So- 
ciety for  Psychical  Eesearch  did  not  enter  on 
its  labours  a  century  or  so  earlier. 

One  other  tavern,  or  ordinary,  of  unusual 
interest  spent  its  brief  career  of  less  than  a 
year  under  the  Piazza  of  Covent  Garden.  It 
was  the  experiment  of  Charles  Macklin,  an 
eighteenth  century  actor  of  undoubted  talent 
and  just  as  undoubted  conceit  and  eccentricity. 
He  had  reached  rather  more  than  the  midway 
of  his  long  life  —  he  was  certainly  ninety-seven 


132   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

when  he  died  and  may  have  been  a  hundred  — 
when  he  resolved  to  leave  the  stage  and  carry 
out  an  idea  over  which  he  had  long  ruminated. 
This  was  nothing  less  than  the  establishment 
of  what  he  grandiloquently  called  the  British 
Institution. 

So  much  in  earnest  was  Macklin  that  he  ac- 
cepted a  farewell  benefit  at  Drury  Lane  thea- 
tre, at  which  he  recited  a  good-bye  prologue 
commending  his  daughter  to  the  favour  of  play- 
goers. In  the  greenroom  that  night,  when  re- 
grets were  expressed  at  the  loss  of  so  admirable 
an  actor,  Foote  remarked,  **  You  need  not  fear; 
he  will  first  break  in  business,  and  then  break 
his  word."  And  Foote  did  not  a  little  to  make 
his  prophecy  come  true.  For  a  part  of  Mack- 
lin *s  scheme,  whereby  he  was  to  instruct  the 
public  and  fill  his  own  pockets  at  the  same  time, 
was  a  lecture-room  on  the  '  *  plan  of  the  ancient 
Greek,  Eoman,  and  Modern  French  and  Italian 
Societies  of  liberal  investigation."  Macklin 
appointed  himself  the  instructor  in  chief,  and 
there  was  hardly  a  subject  under  the  sun  upon 
which  he  was  not  prepared  to  enlighten  the 
British  public  at  the  moderate  price  of  ^*  one 
shilling  each  person."  The  first  two  or  three 
lectures  were  a  success.    Then  the  novelty  wore 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      133 

off  and  opposition  began.  Foote  set  up  a  rival 
oratory  and  devoted  himself  to  the  simple  task 
of  burlesquing  that  of  Macklin.  He  would  im- 
personate Macklin  in  his  armchair,  examining 
a  pupil  in  classics  after  this  fashion. 

*^  Well,  sir,  did  you  ever  hear  of  Aristoph- 
anes? '' 

^ '  Yes,  sir ;  a  Greek  Dramatist,  who 
wrote  —  ' ' 

**  Ay;  but  I  have  got  twenty  comedies  in 
these  drawers,  worth  his  Clouds  and  stuff.  Do 
you  know  anything  of  Cicero?  '' 

^^  A  celebrated  Orator  of  Rome,  who  in  the 
polished  and  persuasive  is  considered  a  master 
in  his  art. '  ^ 

^^  Yes,  yes;  but  I'll  be  bound  he  couldn't 
teach  Elocution." 

Of  course  all  this  raillery  was  more  attract- 
ive to  the  public  than  Macklin 's  serious  and 
pedagogic  dissertations.  The  result  may  be 
imagined.  Footers  oratory  was  crowded; 
Macklin 's  empty. 

But  that  was  not  the  worst.  Another  fea- 
ture of  the  British  Institution  was  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  ordinary  aforesaid.  The  pros- 
pectus of  the  Institution  bore  this  notice: 
*^  There  is  a  public  ordinary  every  day  at  four 


134   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

o'clock,  price  three  shillings.  Each  person  to 
drink  port,  claret,  or  whatever  liquor  he  shall 
choose.''  A  disastrous  precursor  of  the  free 
lunch  this  would  seem.  And  so  it  proved.  But 
not  immediately.  Attracted  by  the  novelty  of 
having  a  famous  actor  for  host,  the  ordinary 
went  swimmingly  for  a  time.  Macklin  presided 
in  person.  As  soon  as  the  door  of  the  room 
was  shut  —  a  bell  rang  for  five  minutes,  a  fur- 
ther ten  minutes'  grace  was  given,  and  then 
no  more  were  admitted  —  the  late  actor  bore 
in  the  first  dish  and  then  took  his  place  at  the 
elaborate  sideboard  to  superintend  further  op- 
erations. Dinner  over,  and  the  bottles  and 
glasses  placed  on  the  table,  ^^  Macklin,  quitting 
his  former  situation,  walked  gravely  up  to  the 
front  of  the  table  and  hoped  ^  that  all  things 
were  found 'agreeable;  '  after  which  he  passed 
the  bell-rope  round  the  chair  of  the  person  who 
happened  to  sit  at  the  head  of  tlie  table,  and, 
making  a  low  bow  at  the  door,  retired."  He 
retired  to  read  over  the  notes  of  the  lecture 
he  had  prepared  for  these  same  guests,  and 
during  his  absence  for  the  rest  of  the  evening 
his  waiters  and  cooks  seized  the  opportunity 
to  reap  their  harvest.  The  sequel  of  the  tale 
was  soon  told  in  the  bankruptcy  court,  and 
Macklin  went  back  to  the  stage,  as  Foote  said 


Taverns  West  of  Temple  Bar      135 


he  would.  And  now  he  lies  peacefully  enough 
in  his  grave  in  the  Covent  Garden  St.  Paul's, 
within  stone's  throw  of  the  scene  where  he 
tried  to  be  a  tavern-keeper  and  failed. 


CHAPTER   V 

INNS   AND    TAVERNS   FURTHER   AFIELD 

Outside  the  more  or  less  clearly  defined  lim- 
its of  the  city,  the  neighbourhood  of  St.  Paul's, 
Fleet  Street,  the  Strand  and  Covent  Garden, 
the  explorer  of  the  inns  and  taverns  of  old 
London  may  encircle  the  metropolis  from  any 
given  point  and  find  something  of  interest 
everj^here.  Such  a  point  of  departure  may 
be  made,  for  example,  in  the  parish  of  Lam- 
beth, where,  directly  opposite  the  Somerset 
House  of  to-day,  once  stood  the  Feathers  Tav- 
ern connected  v^ith  Cuper's  Gardens.  The 
career  of  that  resort  was  materially  interfered 
with  by  the  passing  of  an  act  in  1752  for  the 
regulation  of  places  of  entertainment  **  and 
punishing  persons  keeping  disorderly  houses." 
The  act  stipulated  that  every  place  kept  for 
public  dancing,  music,  or  other  entertainment, 
within  twenty  miles  of  the  city,  should  be  under 
a  license. 

Evidently  it  was  found  impossible  to  secure 
a  license  for  Cuper's  Gardens,  for  in  a  public 

136 


•     »    ,    •, 


>    1  ^  '     ' 

/)     1       A  >  it 


12; 
;> 


fee 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  137 


print  of  May  22nd,  1754,  the  Widow  Evans 
advertises    that    ''  having    been    deny'd    her 
former   Liberty   of   opening   her    Gardens    as 
usual,  through  the  malicious  representations  of 
ill-meaning  persons,  she  therefore  begs  to  ac- 
quaint the  Public  that  she  hath  open'd  them 
as  a  Tavern  till  further  notice.     Coffee  and 
Tea  at  any  hour  of  the  day/'    There  is  no  rec- 
ord of  the  Widow  Evans  ever  recovering  her 
former  ''  Liberty,"  and  hence  the  necessity  of 
continuing  the  place  as  a  tavern  merely,  with 
its  seductive  offer  of  ''  coffee  and  tea  at  any 
hour.''     Even  without  a  license,  however,   a 
concert  was  announced  for  the  night  of  August 
30th,  1759,  the  law  being  evaded  by  the  state- 
ment   that    the   vocal    and   instrumental    pro- 
gramme was  to  be  given  by  ''  a  select  number 
of  gentlemen  for  their  own  private  diversion. ' ' 
As  there  is  no  record  of  any  other  entertain- 
ment having  been  given  at  the  Feathers,  it  is 
probable  that  this  attempt  to  dodge  the  law 
met  with  condign  punishment,  and  resulted  in 
the  closing  of  the  place  for  good.    After  it  had 
stood  unoccupied  for  some  time  Dr.  Johnson 
passed  it  in  the  company  of  Beauclerk,  Lang- 
ton,  and  Lady  Sydney  Beauclerk,  and  made  a 
sportive  suggestion  that  he  and  Beauclerk  and 
Langton  should  take  it.     ''  We  amused  our- 


138   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


selves, '^  he  said,  ^'  with  scheming  how  we 
should  all  do  our  parts.  Lady  Sydney  grew 
angry  and  said,  *  An  old  man  should  not  put 
such  things  in  young  people 's  heads. '  She  had 
no  notion  of  a  joke,  sir;  had  come  late  into 
life,  and  had  a  mighty  unpliable  understand- 
ing.'' Though  Johnson  did  not  carry  his  joke 
into  effect,  the  Feathers  has  not  lacked  for  per- 
petuation, as  is  shown  by  the  modern  public- 
house  of  that  name  in  the  vicinity  of  Waterloo 
Bridge. 

From  Lambeth  to  Westminster  is  an  easy 
journey,  but  unhappily  there  are  no  survivals 
of  the  numerous  inns  which  figure  in  records 
of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries. 
One  of  those  hostelries  makes  its  appearance 
in  the  expense  sheet  of  a  Boger  Keate  who 
went  to  London  in  1575  on  the  business  of  his 
town  of  Weymouth.  He  notes  that  on  Friday 
the  tenth  day  of  February,  ''  in  the  oompanie 
of  certain  courtiars,  and  of  Mr.  Eobert  Greg- 
orie,  at  Westminster,  at  the  Sarrazin's  Head  '* 
he  spent  the  sum  of  five  shillings.  This  must 
have  been  a  particularly  festive  occasion,  for 
a  subsequent  dinner  cost  Mr.  Keate  but  twenty 
pence,  and  '^  sundrie  drinkinges  ''  another  day 
left  him  the  poorer  by  but  two  shillings  and 
twopence. 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  139 


Another  document,  this  time  of  date  1641, 
perpetuates  the  memory  of  a  second  Westmin- 
ster inn  in  a  lively  manner.  This  is  a  petition 
of  a  constable  of  St.  Martin 's-in-the-Fields  to 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  concerned  the  mis- 
doings of  certain  apprentices  at  the  time  of  the 
riot  caused  by  Colonel  Lunsford's  assault  on 
the  citizens  of  Westminster.  The  petitioner, 
Peter  Scott  by  name,  stated  that  he  tried  to 
appease  the  'prentices  by  promising  to  release 
their  fellows  detained  as  prisoners  in  the  Mer- 
maid tavern.  When  he  and  another  constable 
approached  the  door  of  the  house,  his  colleague 
was  thrust  in  the  leg  with  a  sword  from  within, 
which  so  enraged  the  'prentices  —  though  why 
is  not  explained  —  that  they  broke  into  the  tav- 
ern, and  the  keeper  had  since  prosecuted  the 
harmless  Peter  Scott  for  causing  a  riot. 

Numerous  as  were  the  taverns  of  Westmin- 
ster, it  is  probable  that  the  greater  proportion 
of  them  were  to  be  found  in  one  thoroughfare, 
to  wit,  King  Street.  It  was  the  residence  and 
place  of  business  of  one  particularly  aggres- 
sive brewer  in  the  closing  quarter  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  This  vendor  of  ale,  John  Eng- 
land by  name,  had  the  distinction  of  being  the 
King's  brewer,  and  he  appears  to  have  thought 
that  that  position  gave  him  more  rights  than 


140   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

were  possessed  by  ordinary  mortals.  So  when 
an  order  was  made  prohibiting  the  passing  of 
drays  through  King  Street  during  certain 
hours  of  tlie  day,  he  told  the  constables  that  he, 
the  King's  brewer,  cared  nothing  for  the  order 
of  the  House  of  Lords.  The  example  proved 
infectious.  Other  brewers'  draymen  became 
obstreperous  too,  one  calling  the  beadle  that 
stopped  him  ^'  a  rogue  "  and  another  vowing 
that  if  he  knew  the  beadle  ^'  he  would  have  a 
touch  with  him  at  quarterstafP. "  But  all  these 
fiery  spirits  of  King  Street  were  brought  to 
their  senses,  and  are  found  expressing  sorrow 
for  their  offence  and  praying  for  their  dis- 
charge. 

According  to  the  legend  started  by  Ben  Jon- 
son,  this  same  King  Street  was  the  scene  of 
poet  Spenser's  death  of  starvation.  ^'  He 
died,"  so  Jonson  said,  ^'  for  want  of  bread  in 
King  Street ;  he  .  refused  twenty  pieces  sent 
him  by  my  Lord  Essex,  and  said  he  was  sure 
he  had  no  time  to  spend  them."  This  myth  is 
continually  cropping  up,  but  no  evidence  has 
been  adduced  in  its  support.  The  fact  that  he 
died  in  a  tavern  in  King  Street  tells  against 
the  story.  That  thoroughfare,  then  the  only 
highway  between  the  Royal  Palace  of  White- 
hall and  the  Parliament  House,  was  a  street 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  141 

of  considerable  importance,  and  Spenser's 
presence  there  is  explained  by  Stow's  remark 
that  '*  for  the  accommodation  of  such  as  come 
to  town  in  the  terms,  here  are  some  good  inns 
for  their  reception,  and  not  a  few  taverns  for 
entertainment,  as  is  not  unusual  in  places  of 
great  confluence/'  There  are  ample  proofs, 
too,  that  King  Street  was  the  usual  resort  of 
those  who  were  messengers  to  the  Court,  such 
as  Spenser  was  at  the  time  of  his  death. 

It  is  strange,  however,  that  not  many  of  the 
names  of  these  taverns  have  survived.  Yet 
there  are  two,  the  Leg  and  the  Bell,  to  which 
there  are  allusions  in  seventeenth  century  rec- 
ords. There  is  one  reference  in  that  ''  Par- 
liamentary Diary  "  supposed  to  have  been 
written  by  Thomas  Burton,  the  book  which 
Carlyle  characterized  as  being  filled  '^  with 
mere  dim  inanity  and  moaning  wind."  This 
clironicler,  under  date  December  18th,  1656, 
tells  how  he  dined  with  the  clothworkers  at  the 
Leg,  and  how  '^  after  dinner  I  was  awhile  at 
the  Leg  with  Major-Greneral  Howard  and  Mr. 
Briscoe."  Being  so  near  Whitehall  in  one 
direction  and  the  Parliament  House  in  the 
other,  it  is  not  surprising  to  learn  that  the 
nimble  Pepys  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the 
tavern.    After  a  morning  at  Whitehall  ^'  with 


y' 


\ 


142   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

my  lord  ''  in  June,  1660,  he  dined  there  with 
a  couple  of  friends.  Nearly  a  year  later  busi- 
ness took  hmi  to  the  House  of  Lords,  but  as 
he  failed  to  achieve  the  purpose  he  had  in  view 
he  sought  consolation  at  the  Leg,  where  he 
**  dined  very  merry."  A  more  auspicious  oc- 
casion took  place  three  years  after.  **  To  the 
Exchequer,  and  there  got  my  tallys  for  £17,500, 
the  first  payment  I  ever  had  out  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, and  at  the  Legg  spent  14s.  upon  my 
old  acquaintance,  some  of  them  the  clerks,  and 
away  home  with  my  tallys  in  a  coach,  fearful 
every  moment  of  having  one  of  them  fall  out, 
or  snatched  from  me.''  He  was  equally  glow- 
ing with  satisfaction  when  he  visited  the  tavern 
again  in  1667.  All  sorts  of  compliments  had 
been  paid  him  that  day,  and  he  had  been  con- 
gratulated even  by  the  King  and  the  Duke  of 
York.  *^  I  spent  the  morning  thus  walking  in 
the  Hall,  being  complimented  by  everybody 
with  admiration :  and  at  noon  stepped  into  the 
Legg  with  Sir  William  Warren." 

Then  there  was  that  other  house  in  King 
Street,  the  Bell,  upon  which  the  diarist  be- 
stowed some  of  his  patronage.  On  his  first 
visit  he  was  caught  in  a  neat  little  trap.  '^  Met 
with  Purser  Washington,  with  whom  and  a 
lady,  a  friend  of  his,  I  dined  at  the  Bell  Tavern 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  143 

in  King  Street,  but  the  rogue  had  no  more  man- 
ners than  to  invite  me,  and  to  let  me  pay  my 
club. ' '  Which  was  too  bad  of  the  Purser,  when 
Pepys'  head  and  heart  were  full  of  **  infinite 
business/'  The  next  call,  however,  was  more 
satisfactory  and  less  expensive.  He  merely 
dropped  in  to  see  "  the  seven  Flanders  mares 
that  my  Lord  has  bought  lately. ' '  But  the  Bell 
had  a  history  both  before  and  after  Pepys' 
time.  It  is  referred  to  so  far  back  as  the  mid- 
dle of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  it  was  in  high 
favour  as  the  headquarters  of  the  October  Club 
in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne. 

During  the  eighteenth  century  many  fash- 
ionable resorts  were  located  in  Pall  Mall  and 
neighbouring  streets.  In  Pall  Mall  itself  was 
the  famous  Star  and  Garter,  and  close  by  was 
St.  Alban's  Tavern,  celebrated  for  its  political 
gatherings  and  public  dinners.  Horace  Wal- 
pole  has  several  allusions  to  the  house  and  tells 
an  anecdote  which  illustrates  the  wastefulness 
of  young  men  about  town.  A  number  of  these 
budding  aristocrats  were  dining  at  St.  Alban's 
Tavern  and  found  the  noise  of  the  coaches  out- 
side jar  upon  their  sensitive  nerves.  So  they 
promptly  ordered  the  street  to  be  littered  with 
straw,  and  probably  cared  little  that  the  freak 
cost  them  fifty  shillings  each. 


144   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

No  doubt  the  charges  at  the  St.  Alban's  were 
in  keeping  with  the  exclusive  character  of  the 
house,  and  it  might  be  inferred  that  the  same 
would  have  held  good  at  the  Star  and  G-arter. 
But  that  was  not  the  case.  Many  testimonies 
to  the  moderate  charges  of  that  house  have 
been  cited.  Perhaps  the  most  conclusive  evi- 
dence on  this  point  is  furnished  by  Swift,  who 
was  always  a  bit  of  a  haggler  as  to  the  prices 
he  paid  at  taverns.  It  was  at  his  suggestion 
that  the  little  club  to  which  he  belonged  dis- 
carded the  tavern  they  had  been  used  to  meet- 
ing in  and  went  to  the  Star  and  Garter  for 
their  dinner.  ^'  The  other  dog,''  Swift  wrote 
in  one  of  his  little  letters  to  Stella,  **  was  so 
extravagant  in  his  bills  that  for  four  dislies, 
and  four,  first  and  second  course,  without  wine 
or  dessert,  he  charged  twenty-one  pounds,  six 
shillings  and  eightpence."  That  the  bill  at  the 
Star  and  Garter  was  more  reasonable  is  a  safe 
inference  from  the  absence  of  any  complaint 
on  the  part  of  Swift. 

Several  clubs  were  wont  to  meet  under  this 
roof.  Among  these  was  the  Nottinghamshire 
Club,  an  association  of  gentlemen  who  had 
estates  in  that  county  and  were  in  the  habit 
of  dining  together  when  in  town.  One  such 
gathering,  however,  had  a  tragic  termination. 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  145 

It  took  place  on  January  26tli,  1765,  and  among 
those  present  were  William  Chaworth,  John 
Hewett,  Lord  Byron,  a  great-uncle  of  the  poet, 
and  seven  others.  Perfect  harmony  prevailed 
until  about  seven  o'clock,  when  the  wine  was 
brought  in  and  conversation  became  general. 
At  this  juncture  one  member  of  the  company 
started  a  conversation  about  the  best  method 
of  preserving  game,  and  the  subject  was  at  once 
taken  up  by  Mr.  Chaworth  and  Lord  Byron, 
who  seem  to  have  held  entirely  opposite  views. 
The  former  was  in  favour  of  severity  against 
all  poachers,  the  latter  declaring  that  the  best 
way  to  have  most  game  was  to  take  no  care 
of  it  all.  Nettled  by  this  opposition,  Mr.  Cha- 
worth ejaculated  that  he  had  more  game  on  five 
acres  than  Lord  Byron  had  on  all  his  manors. 
Retorts  were  bandied  to  and  fro,  until  finally 
Mr.  Chaworth  clenched  matters  by  words  which 
were  tantamount  to  a  challenge  to  a  duel. 

Nothing  more  was  said,  however,  and  the 
company  was  separating  when  Mr.  Chaworth 
and  Lord  Byron  happened  to  meet  on  a  land- 
ing. What  transpired  at  first  then  is  not 
known,  but  evidently  the  quarrel  was  resumed 
in  some  form  or  other,  for  the  two  joined  in 
calling  a  waiter  and  asking  to  be  shown  into 
an  empty  room.     The  waiter  obeyed,  opening 


146   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


the  door  and  placing  a  small  tallow  candle  on 
the  table  before  he  retired.  The  next  news 
from  that  room  was  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  and 
when  it  was  answered  it  was  found  that  Mr. 
€ha worth  was  mortally  wounded.  What  had 
happened  was  explained  by  Mr.  Chaworth,  who 
said  that  he  could  not  live  many  hours;  that 
he  forgave  Lord  Byron,  and  hoped  the  world 
would ;  that  the  affair  had  passed  in  the  dark, 
only  a  small  tallow  candle  burning  in  the  room; 
that  Lord  Byron  asked  him  if  he  meant  the 
conversation  on  the  game  to  Sir  Charles  Sed- 
ley  or  to  him?  To  which  he  replied,  if  you  have 
anything  to  say,  we  had  better  shut  the  door; 
that  while  he  was  doing  this,  Lord  Byron  bid 
him  draw,  and,  in  turning,  he  saw  his  lordship's 
sword  half  drawn,  on  which  he  whipped  out 
his  own,  and  made  the  first  pass;  the  sword 
being  through  his  lordship's  waistcoat,  he 
thought  he  had  killed  him,  and  asking  whether 
he  was  not  mortally  wounded.  Lord  Byron, 
while  he  was  speaking,  shortened  his  sword, 
and  stabbed  him  in  the  abdomen.  Mr.  Cha- 
worth survived  but  a  few  hours.  There  was 
a  trial,  of  course,  but  it  ended  in  Lord  Byron's 
acquittal  on  the  ground  that  he  had  been  guilty 
of  but  manslaughter.  And  the  poet,  the  famous 
grand-nephew,  rounds  off  this  story  of  the  Star 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  147 


and  Garter  by  declaring  that  his  relative,  so 
far  from  feeling  any  remorse  for  the  death  of 
Mr.  Chaworth,  always  kept  the  sword  he  had 
used  with  such  fatal  effect  and  had  it  hanging 
in  his  bedroom  when  he  died. 

Although  the  neighbouring  Suffolk  Street  is 
a  most  decorous  thoroughfare  at  the  present 
time,  and  entirely  innocent  of  taverns,  it  was 
furnished  with  two,  the  Cock  and  The  Golden 
Eagle,  in  the  latter  portion  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  At  the  former  Evelyn  dined  on  one 
occasion  with  the  councillors  of  the  Board  of 
Trade;  at  the  latter,  on  January  30th,  1735, 
occurred  the  riot  connected  with  the  mythical 
Calf's  Head  Club.  How  the  riot  arose  is  some- 
thing of  a  mystery.  It  seems,  however,  that 
a  mob  was  gathered  outside  the  tavern  by  the 
spreading  of  the  report  that  some  young  nobles 
were  dining  within  on  a  calf's  head  in  ridicule 
of  the  execution  of  Charles  I,  and  a  lurid  ac- 
count was  afterwards  circulated  as  to  how  a 
bleeding  calf's  head,  wrapped  in  a  napkin,  was 
thrown  out  of  the  window,  while  the  merry- 
makers within  drank  all  kinds  of  confusion  to 
the  Stuart  race.  According  to  the  narrative 
of  one  who  was  in  the  tavern,  the  calf's  head 
business  was  wholly  imaginary.  Nor  was  the 
date  of  the  dinner  a  matter  of  prearrangement. 


148   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


It  seems  that  the  start  of  the  commotion  was 
occasioned  by  some  of  the  company  inside  ob- 
serving that  some  boys  outside  had  made  a 
bonfire,  which,  in  their  hilarity,  they  were  anx- 
ious to  emulate.  So  a  waiter  was  coromissioned 
to  make  a  rival  conflagration,  and  then  the  row 
began.  It  grew  to  such  proportions  that  the 
services  of  a  justice  and  a  strong  body  of 
guards  were  required  ere  peace  could  be  re- 
stored to  Suffolk  Street. 

Rare  indeed  is  it  to  find  a  tavern  in  this  dis- 
trict which  can  claim  a  clean  record  in  the  mat- 
ter of  brawls,  and  duels,  and  sudden  deaths. 
Each  of  the  two  m-ost  famous  houses  of  the 
Ha>Tnarket,  that  is.  Long's  and  the  Blue  Posts 
Tavern,  had  its  fatality.  It  was  at  the  former 
ordinary,  which  must  not  be  confused  with  an- 
other of  the  same  name  in  Covent  Garden,  that 
Philip  Herbert,  the  seventh  Earl  of  Pembroke, 
committed  one  of  those  murderous  assaults  for 
which  he  was  distinguished.  He  killed  a  man 
in  a  duel  in  1677,  and  in  the  first  month  of  the 
following  year  was  committed  to  the  Tower 
**  for  blasphemous  words.''  That  imprison- 
ment, however,  was  of  brief  duration,  for  in 
February  a  man  petitioned  the  House  of  Lords 
for  protection  from  the  earl's  violence.  And 
the  day  before,  in  a  drunken  scuffle  at  Long's 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  149 


he  had  killed  a  man  named  Nathaniel  Cony. 
This  did  not  end  his  barbarous  conduct,  for 
two  years  later  he  murdered  an  officer  of  the 
watch,  when  returning  from  a  drinking  bout  at 
Turnham  Green.     Mercifully  for  the  peace  of 
the  community  this  blood-thirsty  peer  died  at 
the  age  of  thirty.    At  the  Blue  Posts  Tavern 
the  disputants  were  a  Mr.  Moon  and  a  Mr. 
Hunt,  who  began  their  quarrel  in  the  house, 
*'  and  as  they  came  out  at  the  door  they  drew 
their  swords,  and  the  latter  was  run  through 
and  immediately  died/'     There  was  another 
Blue  Posts  in  Spring  Gardens  close  by,  which 
became  notorious  from  being  the  resort  of  the 
Jacobites.    This,  in  fact,  was  the  house  in  which 
Eobert  Charnock  and  his  fellow  conspirators 
were   at  breakfast  when  news   reached  them 
which  proved  that  their  plot  had  been  discov- 
ered. 

A  more  refined  atmosphere  hangs  around 
the  memory  of  the  Thatched  House,  that  St. 
James's  Street  tavern  which  started  on  its 
prosperous  career  in  1711  and  continued  it 
until  1865,  at  which  date  the  building  was  taken 
down  to  make  room  for  the  Conservative  Club- 
house. Its  title  would  have  led  a  stranger  to 
expect  a  modest  establishment,  but  that  seems 
to  have  been  bestowed  on  the  principle  which 


150   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

still  prevails  when  a  mansion  is  designated  a 
cottage.    It  reminds  one  of  Coleridge  and  his 

"  the  Devil  did  grin,  for  his  darling  sin 
Is  the  pride  that  apes  humility/' 

Swift  was  conscious  of  the  incongruity  of  the 
name,  as  witness  the  lines, 

"  The  Deanery  House  may  well  be  mateh'd. 
Under  correction,  with  the  Thatch'd/' 

0 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  tavern  was  of  the  high- 
est class  and  greatly  in  repute  with  the  leaders 
of  society  and  fashion.  And  its  frequenters 
were  not  a  little  proud  of  being  known  among 
its  patrons.  Hence  the  delightful  retort  of  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow  recorded  by  Lord 
Campbell.  ''  In  the  debates  on  the  Regency, 
a  prim  peer,  remarkable  for  his  finical  delicacy 
and  formal  adherence  to  etiquette,  having  cited 
pompously  certain  resolutions  which  he  said 
had  been  passed  by  a  party  of  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  of  great  distinction  at  the  Thatched 
House  Tavern,  the  Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow, 
in  adverting  to  these  said,  ^  As  to  what  the 
noble  lord  in  the  red  ribbon  told  us  he  had  heard 
at  the  ale-house.'  '' 

Town  residences,  of  a  duke  and  several  earls 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  151 

are  now  the  most  conspicuous  buildings  in  the 
Mayfair  Stanhope  Street,  but  in  the  closing 
years  of  the  eighteenth  century  there  was  a 
tavern  here  of  the  name  of  Pitt's  Head.  On 
a  June  night  in  1792  this  house  was  the  scene 
of  a  gathering  which  had  notable  results.  The 
host  conceived  the  idea  of  inviting  a  nmnber 
of  the  servants  of  the  neighbourhood  to  a  fes- 
tivity in  honour  of  the  King's  birthday,  one 
feature  of  which  was  to  be  a  dance.  The  com- 
pany duly  assembled  to  the  number  of  forty, 
but  some  busybody  carried  news  of  the  gath- 
ering to  a  magistrate  who,  with  fifty  constables, 
quickly  arrived  on  the  scene  to  put  an  end  to 
the  merrymaking.  Every  servant  in  the  tav- 
ern was  taken  into  custody  and  marched  off 
to  a  watch-house  in  Mount  Street.  News  of 
what  had  happened  spread  during  the  night, 
and  early  in  the  morning  the  watch-house  was 
surrounded  by  a  furious  mob.  A  riot  followed, 
which  was  not  easily  suppressed.  But  another 
consequence  followed.  During  the  riot  the 
Earl  of  Lonsdale  was  stopped  in  his  carriage 
while  passing  to  his  own  house,  and  annoyed 
by  that  experience  he  addressed  some  curt 
words  to  a  Captain  Cuthbert  who  was  on  duty 
with  the  soldiers.  Of  course  a  duel  was  the 
next  step.    After  failing  to  injure  each  other 


152   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

at  two  attempts,  the  seconds  intervened,  and 
insisted  that,  as  their  quarrel  had  arisen 
through  a  mutual  misconception,  and  as  neither 
of  them  would  make  the  first  concession,  they 
should  advance  towards  each  other,  step  for 
step,  and  both  declare,  in  the  same  breath,  that 
they  were  sorry  for  what  had  happened. 

In  pre-railway  days  Piccadilly  could  boast 
of  the  AVhite  Horse  Cellar,  which  Dickens  made 
famous  as  the  starting-point  of  Mr.  Pickwick 
for  Bath  after  being  mulct  in  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  damages  by  the  fair  widow 
Bardell.  The  fact  that  it  was  an  important 
coaching  depot  appears  to  have  been  its  chief 
attraction  in  those  and  earlier  days,  for  the 
novelist  ^s  description  of  the  interior  would 
hardly  prove  seductive  to  travellers  were  the 
house  existing  in  its  old-time  condition.  ^'  The 
travellers'  room  at  the  White  Horse  Cellar,'' 
wrote  Dickens,  ^'  is  of  course  uncomfortable; 
it  would  be  no  travellers'  room  if  it  were  not. 
It  is  the  right-hand  parlour,  into  which  an 
aspiring  kitchen  fireplace  appears  to  have 
walked,  accompanied  by  a  rebellious  poker, 
tongs,  and  shovel.  It  is  divided  into  boxes,  for 
the  solitary  confinement  of  travellers,  and  is 
furnished  with  a  clock,  a  looking-glass,  and 
a  live  waiter:    which  latter  article  is  kept  in 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  153 

a  small  kennel  for  washing  glasses,  in  a  corner 
of  the  apartment.'*  Pierce  Egan,  in  the  closing 
pages  of  his  lively  account  of  Jerry  Haw- 
thorn's visit  to  London,  gives  an  outside  view 
of  the  tavern  only.  And  that  more  by  sugges- 
tion than  direct  description.  It  is  the  bustle 
of  the  place  rather  than  its  architectural  fea- 
tures Egan  was  concerned  with,  and  in  that  he 
was  seconded  by  his  artist,  George  Cruikshank, 
whose  picture  of  the  White  Horse  Cellar  is 
mostly  coach  and  horses  and  human  beings. 

Few  if  any  London  taverns  save  the  Adam 
and  Eve  can  claim  to  stand  upon  ground  once 
occupied  by  a  King's  palace.  This  tavern, 
which  has  a  modern  representative  of  identical 
name,  was  situated  at  the  northern  end  of  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road,  at  the  junction  of  the  road 
leading  to  Hampstead.  It  was  built  originally 
on  the  site  of  a  structure  known  as  King  John's 
Palace,  which  subsequently  became  a  manor 
house,  and  then  gave  way  to  the  Adam  and 
Eve  tavern  and  gardens.  This  establishment 
had  a  varied  career.  At  one  time  it  was  highly 
respectable;  then  its  character  degenerated  to 
the  lowest  depths;  afterwards  taking  an  up- 
ward move  once  more. 

Something  in  the  shape  of  a  place  for  re- 
freshments was  standing  on  this  spot  in  the 


154   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

mid  seventeenth  century,  for  the  parish  books 
of  St.  Giles  in  the  Fields  record  that  three 
serving  maids  were  in  1645  fined  a  shilling  each 
for  **  drinking  at  Totenhall  Court  on  the  Sab- 
bath daie.'^  In  the  eighteenth  century  the  re- 
sort was  at  the  height  of  its  popularity.  It  had 
a  large  room  with  an  organ,  skittle-alleys,  and 
cosy  arbours  for  those  who  liked  to  consume 
their  refreshments  out  of  doors.  At  one  time 
also  its  attractions  actually  embraced  ""  a 
monkey,  a  heron,  some  wild  fowl,  some  parrots, 
and  a  smiall  pond  for  gold-fish. ' '  It  was  at  this 
stage  in  its  history,  when  its  surroundings  were 
more  rural  than  it  is  possible  to  imagine  to-day, 
that  the  tavern  was  depicted  by  Hogarth  in 
his  ''  March  to  Finchley  "  plate.  Early  in  the 
last  century,  however,  it  ^*  became  a  place  of 
more  promiscuous  resort,  and  persons  of  the 
worst  character  and  description  were  in  the 
constant  habit  of  frequenting  it;  highwaymen, 
footpads,  pickpockets,  and  common  women 
formed  its  leading  visitants,  and  it  became  so 
great  a  nuisance  to  the  neighbourhood,  that  the 
magistrates  interfered,  the  organ  was  banished, 
the  skittle-grounds  destroyed,  and  the  gardens 
dug  up.*^  A  creepy  story  is  told  of  a  subter- 
raneous passage  having  existed  in  connection 
with  the  manor  house  which  formerly  stood  on 


'      A    '    )       1  3  5 


9         03,1,      T>  > 

•         -    -  \3     >      3-,3 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  155 


this   spot,  a  passage  which  many  set   out  to 
explore  but  which  has  kept  its  secret  hidden 

to  this  day. 

Kecord  has  already  been  made  of  the  fact 
that  there  was  one  ''  Sarrazin's  "  Head  tavern 
at  Westminster;  it  must  be  added  that  there 
was  another  at  Snow  Hill,  which  disappeared 
when  the  Holborn  Viaduct  was  built.  Dickens, 
who  rendered  so  many  valuable  services  in  de- 
scribing the  buildings  of  old  London,  has  left 
a  characteristic  pen-picture  of  this  tavern. 
''  Near  to  the  jail,  and  by  consequence  near 
to  Smithfield,  and  on  that  particular  part  of 
Snow  Hill  where  omnibuses  going  eastward 
seriously  think  of  falling  down  on  purpose,  and 
where  horses  in  hackney  cabriolets  going  west- 
ward not  unfrequently  fall  by  accident,  is  the 
coachyard  of  the  Saracen's  Head  Inn;  its 
portals  guarded  by  two  Saracens'  heads  and 
shoulders  frowning  upon  you  from  each  side 
of  the  gateway.  The  Inn  itself  garnished  with 
another  Saracen's  head,  frowns  upon  you  from 
the  top  of  the  yard.  Wlien  you  walk  up  this 
yard  you  will  see  the  booking-office  on  your 
left,  and  the  tower  of  St.  Sepulchre's  Church 
darting  abruptly  up  into  the  sky  on  your 
right,  and  a  gallery  of  bedrooms  upon  both 
sides.    Just  before  you,  you  will  observe  a  long 


156   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


window  with  the  words  ^  Coffee  Room  '  legibly 
painted  above  if"  That  allusion  to  St.  Sepul- 
chre's Church  recalls  the  fact  that  in  that  build- 
ing may  be  seen  the  brass  to  the  memory  of 
the  redoubtable  Captain  John  Smith,  who  was 
to  win  the  glory  of  laying  the  first  abiding 
foundations  of  English  life  in  America.  The 
brass  makes  due  record  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
''  Admiral  of  New  England,"  and  it  also  bears 
in  the  coat  of  arms  three  Turks'  heads,  in  mem- 
ory of  Smith's  alleged  single-handed  victory 
over  that  nmnber  of  Saracens.  As  Selden 
pointed  out,  when  Englishmen  came  home  from 
fighting  the  Saracens,  and  were  beaten  by  them, 
they,  to  save  their  own  credit,  pictured  their 
enemy  with  big,  terrible  faces,  such  as  frowned 
at  Dickens  from  so  many  coigns  of  vantage  in 
the  old  Saracen's  Head. 

During  the  closing  decade  of  the  famous  Bar- 
tholomew Fair  —  an  annual  medley  of  com- 
merce and  amusement  which  had  its  origin  in 
the  days  when  it  was  the  great  cloth  exchange 
of  all  England  and  attracted  clothiers  from  all 
quarters  —  the  scene  of  what  was  known  as  the 
Pie-Powder  Court  was  located  in  a  tavern 
known  as  the  Hand  and  Shears.  Concerning 
this  court  Blackstone  offered  this  interesting 
explanation:    ''  The  lowest,  and,  at  the  same 


■>     -I  > 

5  J      1  '>        ...        1 

1  ^         -I       •*       /I  > 


1  ^     ;    > 


)    ■>  1      J    ■> 


K 
< 

^    QQ 

C  K 

H 

O 

)-] 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  157 


time,   the   most   expeditious    court    of   justice 
known  to  the  law  of  England,  is  the  Court  of 
Pie-Powder,  curia  pedis  pulverizati,  so  called 
from  the  dusty  feet  of  the  suitors/'    Another 
explanation  of  the  name  is  that  the  court  was 
so  called  ^^  because  justice  is  there  done  as 
speedily    as    dust    can    fall    from    the    foot." 
Whatever  be  the  correct  solution,  the  curious 
fact  remains  that  this  court  was  a  serious  af- 
fair, and  had  the  power  to  enforce  law  and  deal 
out  punishment  within  the  area  of  the  Fair. 
There  is  an  excellent  old  print  of  the  Hand 
and  Shears  in  which  the  court  was  held,  and 
another  not  less   interesting  picture   showing 
the  court  engaged  on  the  trial  of  a  case.     It 
is  evident  from  the  garb  of  the  two  principal 
figures  that  plaintiff  and  defendant  belonged 
to  the  strolling-player  fraternity,  who  always 
contributed  largely  to  the  amusements  of  the 
Fair.     This  curious  example  of  swift  justice, 
recalling   the    Old   Testament   picture   of   the 
judge  sitting  at  the  gate  of  the  city,  became 
entirely  a  thing  of  the  past  when  Bartholomew 
Fair  was  abolished  in  1854. 

There  are  two  other  inns,  one  to  the  north, 
the  other  to  the  south,  the  names  of  which  can 
hardly  escape  the  notice  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury visitor  to  London.     These  are  the  Angel 


158   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

at  Islington,  and  the  Elephant  and  Castle  at 
Walworth.  The  former  is  probably  the  older 
of  the  two,  though  both  were  in  their  day  fa- 
mous as  the  starting-places  of  coaches,  just  as 
they  are  conspicuous  to-day  as  traffic  centres 
of  omnibuses  and  tram-cars.  The  Angel  dates 
back  to  before  1665,  for  in  that  year  of  plague 
in  London  a  citizen  broke  out  of  his  house  in 
the  city  and  sought  refuge  here.  He  was  re- 
fused admission,  but  was  taken  in  at  another 
inn  and  found  dead  in  the  morning.  In  the 
seventeenth  century  and  later,  as  old  pictures 
testify,  the  inn  presented  the  usual  features  of 
a  large  old  country  hostelry.  As  such  the 
courtyard  is  depicted  by  Hogarth  in  his  print 
of  the  ''  Stage  Coach.''  Its  career  has  been 
uneventful  in  the  main,  though  in  1767  one  of 
its  guests  ended  his  life  by  poison,  leaving  be- 
hind this  message :  ' '  I  have  for  fifteen  years 
past  suffered  more  indigence  than  ever  gentle- 
man before  submitted  to,  I  am  neglected  by  my 
acquaintance,  traduced  by  my  enemies,  and  in- 
sulted by  the  vulgar. ' ' 

If  he  would  complete  the  circle  of  his  tour 
on  the  outskirts  of  London  proper,  the  pilgrim, 
on  leaving  the  Elephant  and  Castle,  should 
wend  his  way  to  Bankside,  though  not  in  the 
expectation  of  finding  any  vestige  left  of  that 


r   '     c         f 


<  '. 


O 

< 

K 

5?: 

o 
o 

<! 


Inns  and  Taverns  Afield  159 


Falcon  tavern  which  was  the  daily  resort  of 
Shakespeare  and  his  theatrical  companions. 
Not  far  from  Blackfriars  Bridge  used  to  be 
Falcon  Stairs  and  the  Falcon  Glass  Works,  and 
other  industrial  buildings  bearing  that  name, 
but  no  Falcon  tavern  within  recent  memory. 
It  has  been  denied  that  Shakespeare  frequented 
the  Falcon  tavern  which  once  did  actually  exist. 
But  so  convivial  a  soul  must  have  had  some 
''  house  of  call,''  and  there  is  no  reason  to  rob 
the  memory  of  the  old  Falcon  of  what  would 
be  its  greatest  honour.  Especially  does  it  seem 
unnecessary  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  Falcon 
and  many  another  inn  and  tavern  of  old  Lon- 
don, has  vanished  and  left  '^  not  a  rack  be- 
hind." 


n 

COFFEE-HOUSES   OF   OLD  LONDON 


161 


CHAPTEE   I 

COFFEE  -  HOUSES    ON    ^CHANGE  AND   NEAR  -  BY 

Coffee  -  houses  still  exist  in  London,  but  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  one  answering  to  the 
type  which  was  so  common  during  the  last  forty 
years  of  the  seventeenth  century  and  the  first 
half  of  the  eighteenth.  The  establishment  of 
to-day  is  nothing  more  than  an  eating-house 
of  modest  pretensions,  frequented  mostly  by 
the  labouring  classes.  In  many  cases  its  in- 
ternal arrangements  follow  the  old-time  model, 
and  the  imitation  extends  to  the  provision  of 
a  daily  newspaper  or  two  from  which  custom- 
ers may  glean  the  news  of  the  day  without 
extra  charge.  Here  and  there,  too,  the  coffee- 
house of  the  present  perpetuates  the  conve- 
nience of  its  prototype  by  allowing  customers' 
letters  to  be  sent  to  its  address.  But  the  more 
exalted  type  of  coffee-house  has  lost  its  identity 
in  the  club. 

It  is  generally  agreed  that  1652  was  the  date 
of  the  opening  of  the  first  coffee-house  in  Lon- 
don.    There  are,  however,  still  earlier  refer- 

163 


164    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


ences  to  the  drink  itself.  For  example,  Sir 
Henry  Blount  wrote  from  Turkey  in  1634  to 
the  effect  that  the  natives  of  that  country  had 
a  ''  drink  called  cauphe  ...  in  taste  a  little 
bitterish,''  and  that  they  daily  entertained 
themselves  ''  two  or  three  hours  in  cauphe- 
houses,  which,  in  Turkey,  abound  more  than 
inns  and  alehouses  with  us."  Also  it  will  be 
remembered  that  Evelyn,  under  date  1637,  re- 
corded how  a  Greek  came  to  Oxford  and  "■  was 
the  first  I  ever  saw  drink  coffee." 

Whether  the  distinction  of  opening  the  first 
coffee-house  in  London  belongs  to  a  Mr.  Bow- 
man or  to  a  Pasqua  Rosee  cannot  be  decided. 
But  all  authorities  are  as  one  in  locating  that 
establishment  in  St.  Michael's  Alley,  Cornhill, 
and  that  the  date  was  1652.  The  weight  of 
evidence  seems  to  be  in  favour  of  Rosee,  who 
was  servant  to  a  Turkey  merchant  named  Ed- 
wards. Having  acquired  the  coffee-drinking 
habit  in  Turkey,  Mr.  Edwards  was  accustomed 
to  having  his  servant  prepare  the  beverage  for 
him  in  his  London  house,  and  the  new  drink 
speedily  attracted  a  levee  of  curious  onlookers 
and  tasters.  Evidently  the  company  grew  too 
large  to  be  convenient,  and  at  this  juncture 
Mr.  Edwards  suggested  that  Rosee  should  set 
up  as  a  vendor  of  the  drink.    He  did  so,  and  a 


Coffee-Houses  on  ^Change         165 


copy  of  the  prospectus  he  issued  on  the  occa- 
sion still  exists.  It  set  forth  at  great  length 
''  the  virtue  of  the  Coffee  Drink  First  pub- 
liquely  made  and  sold  in  England  by  Pasqua 
Rosee,"  the  berry  of  which  was  described  as 
*' a  simple  innocent  thing''  but  yielding  a 
liquor  of  countless  merits.  But  Rosee  was 
frank  as  to  its  drawbacks;  ''  it  will  prevent 
drowsiness/'  he  continued,  '^  and  make  one  fit 
for  business,  if  one  have  occasion  to  watch; 
and  therefore  you  are  not  to  drink  it  after 
supper,  unless  you  intend  to  be  watchful,  for 
it  will  hinder  sleep  for  three  or  four  hours." 

That  Pasqua  Rosee  prospered  amazingly  in 
St.  Michael's  Alley,  ''  at  the  Signe  of  his  own 
Head,"  is  the  only  conclusion  possible  from 
the  numerous  rival  establishments  which  were 
quickly  set  up  in  different  parts  of  London. 
By  the  end  of  the  century  it  was  computed  that 
the  coffee-houses  of  London  numbered  nearly 
three  thousand. 

But  there  were  days  of  tribulation  to  be 
passed  through  before  that  measure  of  success 
was  attained.  In  eight  years  after  Rosee  had 
opened  his  establishment  the  consumption  of  >/ 

coffee  in  England  had  evidently  increased  to 
a  notable  extent,  for  in  1660  the  House  of  Com- 
mons is  found  granting  to  Charles  II  for  life 


166   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

the  excise  duty  on  coffee  ^'  and  other  outland- 
ish drinks. ' '  But  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  while 
the  introduction  of  tea  was  accepted  with  equa- 
nimity by  the  community,  the  introduction  of 
coffee  was  strenuously  opposed  for  more  than 
a  decade.  Poets  and  pamphleteers  combined  to 
decry  the  new  beverage.  The  rhyming  author 
of  **  A  Cup  of  Coffee,  or  Coffee  in  its  Colours,'' 
published  in  1663,  voiced  his  indignation  thus: 

"  For  men  and  Christians  to  turn  Turks  and  think 
To  excuse  the  crime,  because  ^tis  in  their  drink! 
Pure  English  apes!   ye  might,  for  aught  I  know, 
Would  it  but  mode  —  learn  to  eat  spiders  too. 
Should  any  of  your  grandsires'  ghosts  appear 
In  your  wax-candle  circles,  and  but  hear 
The  name  of  coffee  so  much  called  upon. 
Then  see  it  drank  like  scalding  Phlegethon ; 
Would  they  not  startle,  think  ye,  all  agreed 
^Twas  conjuration  both  in  word  and  deed? '' 

By  way  of  climax  this  opponent  of  the  new 
drink  appealed  to  the  shades  of  Ben  Jonson 
and  other  libation-loving  poets,  and  recalled 
how  they,  as  source  of  inspiration,  **  drank 
pure  nectar  as  the  Gods  drink  too/' 

Three  years  later  a  dramatist  seems  to  have 
tried  his  hand  at  depicting  the  new  resort  on 
the  stage,  for  Pepys  tells  how  in  October,  1666, 
he  saw  a  play  called  ^^  The  Coffee-House. "    It 


Coflfee-Houses  on  ^Change         167 


was  not  a  success;  ''  the  most  ridiculous,  in- 
sipid play  that  ever  I  saw  in  my  life,''  was 
Pepys'  verdict.  But  there  was  nothing  insipid 
about  the  pamphlet  which,  under  the  title  of 
*'  The  Character  of  a  Coif ee-House, ' '  issued 
from  the  press  seven  years  later.  The  author 
withheld  his  name,  and  was  wise  in  so  doing, 
for  his  cuts  and  thrusts  with  his  pen  would 
have  brought  down  upon  him  as  numerous  cuts 
and  thrusts  with  a  more  dangerous  weapon 
had  his  identity  been  known.  ^^  A  coffee- 
house,'' he  wrote,  ''  is  a  lay-conventicle,  good- 
fellowship  turned  puritan,  ill-husbandry  in 
masquerade ;  whither  people  come,  after  toping 
all  day,  to  purchase,  at  the  expense  of  their  last 
penny,  the  repute  of  sober  companions :  a  rota- 
room,  that,  like  Noah's  ark,  receives  animals 
of  every  sort,  from  the  precise  diminutive 
band,  to  the  hectoring  cravat  and  cuif s  in  folio ; 
a  nursery  for  training  up  the  smaller  fry  of 
virtuosi  in  confident  tattling,  or  a  cabal  of  kit- 
tling critics  that  have  only  learned  to  spit  and 
mew;  a  mint  of  intelligence,  that,  to  make 
each  man  his  penny-worth,  draws  out  into 
petty  parcels  what  the  merchant  receives  in 
bullion.  He,  that  comes  often,  saves  two-pence 
a  week  in  Gazettes,  and  has  his  news  and  his 
coffee  for  the  same  charge,  as  at  a  three-penny 


168   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


^ 


ordiuary  they  give  in  broth  to  your  chop  of 
mutton ;  it  is  an  exchange  where  haberdashers 
of  political  smallwares  meet,  and  mutually 
abuse  each  other,  and  the  public,  with  bottom- 
less stories,  and  headless  notions;  the  rendez- 
vous of  idle  pamphlets,  and  persons  more  idly 
employed  to  read  them ;  a  high  court  of  justice, 
where  every  little  fellow  in  a  camlet  cloke  takes 
upon  him  to  transpose  affairs  both  in  church 
and  state,  to  shew  reasons  against  acts  of  par- 
liament, and  condemn  the  decrees  of  general 
councils/' 

Having  indulged  in  that  trenchant  generali- 
zation, this  vigorous  assailant  proceeded  to 
describe  a  coffee-house  in  detail.  The  room 
^'  stinks  of  tobacco  worse  than  hell  of  brim- 
stone; "  the  coffee  itself  had  the  appearance 
of  ''  Pluto ''s  diet-drink,  that  witches  tipple  out 
of  dead  men's  skulls;  ''  and  the  company  in- 
cluded ' '  a  silly  fop  and  a  worshipful  justice,  a 
griping  rook  and  a  grave  citizen,  a  worthy  law- 
yer and  an  errant  pickpocket,  a  reverend  non- 
conformist and  a  canting  mountebank,  all 
blended  together  to  compose  an  oglio  of  im- 
pertinence/' There  is  a  delightful  sketch  of 
one  named  *^  Captain  All-man-sir,''  as  big  a 
boaster  as  Falstaff,  and  a  more  delicately 
etched    portrait    of    the    Town    Wit,    who    is 


Coffee-Houses  on  'Change         169 

summed  up  as  the  '^  jack-pudding  of  society  '^ 
in  the  judgment  of  all  wise  men,  but  an  incom- 
parable wit  in  his  own.  The  peroration  of  this 
pamphlet,  devoted  to  a  wholesale  condemna- 
tion of  the  coffee-house,  indulges  in  too  frank 
and  unsavoury  metaphors  for  modern  re-pub- 
lication. 

Of  course  there  was  an  answer.  Pamphlet- 
eering was  one  of  the  principal  diversions  of 
the  age.  ^*  Coffee-Houses  Vindicated  ^'  was 
the  title  of  the  reply.  The  second  pamphlet 
was  not  the  equal  of  the  first  in  terseness  or 
wit,  but  it  had  the  advantage  in  argument. 
The  writer  did  not  find  it  difficult  to  make  out 
a  good  case  for  the  coffee-house.  It  was  eco- 
nomical, conduced  to  sobriety,  and  provided 
innocent  diversion.  When  one  had  to  meet  a 
friend,  a  tavern  was  an  expensive  place;  ''  in 
an  ale-house  you  must  gorge  yourself  with  pot 
after  pot,  sit  dully  alone,  or  be  drawn  in  to 
club  for  others'  reckonings. '^  Not  so  at  the 
coffee-house:  *^  Here,  for  a  penny  or  two,  you 
may  spend  two  or  three  hours,  have  the  shelter 
of  a  house,  the  warmth  of  a  fire,  the  diversion 
of  company;  and  conveniency,  if  you  please, 
of  taking  a  pipe  of  tobacco ;  and  all  this  with- 
out any  grumbling  or  repining. ''  On  the  score 
of  sobriety  the  writer  was  equally  cogent.    It 


170   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

was  stupid  custom  which  insisted  that  any  and 
every  transaction  should  be  carried  out  at  a 
tavern,  where  continual  sipping  made  men  un- 
fit for  business.  Coffee,  on  the  contrary,  was 
a  *^  wakeful  "  drink.  And  the  company  of  the 
coffee-house  enabled  its  frequenter  to  follow 
the  proper  study  of  man,  mankind.  The  tri- 
umphant conclusion  was  that  a  well-regulated 
coffee-house  was  ''  the  sanctuary  of  health,  the 
nursery  of  temperance,  the  delight  of  frugality, 
an  academy  of  civility,  and  free-school  of  in- 
genuity. ' ' 

But  a  still  more  serious-minded  person  took 
part  in  the  assault  upon  the  coffee-house.  He 
was  one  of  those  amateur  statesmen,  who  usu- 
ally, as  in  this  case,  abrogate  to  themselves  the 
title  of  **  Lover  of  his  Country,"  who  have  a 
iiemedy  for  every  disease  of  the  body  politic. 
Cin  a  series  of  proposals  offered  for  the  con- 
sideration of  Parliament,  this  patriot  pleaded 
for  the  suppression  of  coffee-houses  on  the 
ground  that  if  less  coffee  were  drunk  there 
would  be  a  larger  demand  for  beer,  and  a  larger 
demand  for  beer  meant  the  growing  of  more 
English  grain.  Apart  from  economics,  how- 
ever, there  were  adequate  reasons  for  suppres- 
sion. These  coffee-houses  have  ^'  done  great 
mischiefs  to  the  nation,  and  undone  many  of 


Coifee-Houses  on  'Change         171 

the  King's  subjects:  for  they,  being  great  ene- 
mies to  diligence  and  industry,  have  been  the 
ruin  of  many  serious  and  hopeful  young  gen- 
tlemen and  tradesmen,  who,  before  frequenting 
these  places,  were  diligent  students  or  shop- 
keepers, extraordinary  husbands  of  their  time 
as  well  as  money;  but  since  these  houses  have 
been  set  up,  under  pretence  of  good  husbandry, 
to  avoid  spending  above  one  penny  or  two- 
pence at  a  time,  have  gone  to  these  coffee- 
houses; where,  meeting  friends,  they  have  sat 
talking  three  or  four  hours;  after  which,  a 
fresh  acquaintance  appearing,  and  so  one  after 
another  all  day  long,  hath  begotten  fresh  dis- 
course, so  that  frequently  they  have  staid  five 
or  six  hours  together,''  to  the  neglect  of  shops 
and  studies,  etc.,  etc. 

Even  yet,  however,  the  worst  had  not  been 
said.  The  wives  of  England  had  to  be  heard 
from.  Hence  the  ^'  Women's  Petition  against 
Coffee,"  which  enlivens  the  annals  of  the  year 
of  grace  1674.  The  pernicious  drink  was  in- 
dicted on  three  counts:  ^'  It  made  men  as  un- 
fruitful as  the  deserts  whence  that  unhappy 
berry  is  said  to  be  broughtj^'^  its  use  would 
cause  the  oifsprmg  of  their  ''mighty  ances- 
tors "  to  **  dwindle  into  a  succession  of  apes 
and  pigmies;  "  and  when  a  husband  went  out 


172    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

on  a  domestic  errand  lie  '^  would  stop  by  the 
way  to  drink  a  couple  of  cups  of  coffee. '^ 

These  assaults  —  or,  what  is  more  probable, 
the  abuse  of  the  coffee-house  for  political  pur- 
poses—  had  an  effect,  for  a  time.  The  king, 
although  enjoying  the  excise  from  that  ''  out- 
landish ''  drink,  did  issue  a  proclamation  for 
the  suppression  of  the  coffee-houses,  only  to 
cancel  it  almost  ere  the  ink  was  dry.  But  later, 
to  put  a  stop  to  that  public  discussion  of  state 
affairs  which  was  deemed  sacrilege  in  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  an  order  was  issued  forbid- 
ding coffee-houses  to  keep  any  written  or  other 
news  save  such  as  appeared  in  the  Gazette. 

But  the  coffee-house  as  an  institution  was 
not  to  be  put  down.  Neither  pamphlets  nor 
poems,  nor  petitions  nor  proclamations,  had  any 
effect.  It  met  a  ^'  felt  want  ''^  apparently,  or 
made  so  effective  an  appeal  to  the  social  spirit 
of  seventeenth  century  Londoners  that  its  suc- 
cess was  assured  from  the  start.  Consequently 
Pasqua  Kosee  soon  had  opposition  in  his  own 
immediate  neighbourhood.  It  may  be  that  the 
Rainbow  of  Fleet  Street  was  the  second  coffee- 
house to  be  opened  in  London,  or  that  the  hon- 
our belonged  elsewhere;  what  is  to  be  noted 
is  that  the  establishments  multiplied  fast  and 
nowhere  more  than  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Roj^al 


Coflfee-Houses  on  'Change         173 

Exchange.  Several  were  to  be  found  in  Change 
Alley,  while  in  the  Royal  Exchange  of  to-day, 
the  third  building  of  that  name,  are  the  head- 
quarters of  Lloyd's,  which  perpetuates  in  name 
at  least  one  of  the  most  remarkable  coffee- 
houses of  the  seventeenth  century, 
f  Evidence  is  abundant  that  the  early  coffee- 
houses took  their  colour  from  the  district  in 
which  they  were  established.  Thus  it  would  be  \ 
idle  in  the  main  to  expect  a  literary  atmosphere 
among  the  houses  which  flourished  in  the  heart 
of  the  city.  They  became  the  resorts  of  men 
of  business,  and  gradually  acquired  a  specific 
character  from  the  type  of  business  man  most 
frequenting  them.  In  a  way  Batson's  coffee- 
house was  an  exception  to  the  rule,  inasmuch 
as  doctors  and  not  merchants  were  most  in 
evidence  here.  But  the  fact  that  it  was  tacitly 
accepted  as  the  physicians'  resort  shows  how 
the  principle  acted  in  a  general  way.  One  of 
the  most  constant  visitors  at  Batson's  was  Sir 
Richard  Blackmore,  that  scribbling  doctor  who 
was  physician  to  William  III  and  then  to 
Queen  Anne.  Although  his  countless  books 
were  received  either  with  ridicule  or  absolute 
silence,  he  still  persisted  in  authorship,  and 
finally  produced  an  ''  Heroick  Poem  "  in 
twelve  books  entitled,  ^^  Prince  Alfred."    Lest 


174   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


any  sliould  wonder  how  a  doctor  could  court 
the  muse  to  that  extent  without  neglecting  his 
proper  work,  he  explained  in  his  preface  that 
he  had  written  the  poem  ''  by  such  catches  and 
starts,  and  in  such  occasional  uncertain  hours 
as  his  profession  afforded,  and  for  the  greater 
part  in  coffee-houses,  or  in  passing  up  and 
down  the  streets,"  an  apology  which  led  to  his 
being  accused  of  writing  ''  to  the  rumbling  of 
his  chariot  wheels."  But  in  the  main  the  real 
literary  folk  of  the  day  would  have  none  of 
him.  He  belonged  to  the  city,  and  what  had 
a  mere  city  man  to  do  with  poetry?  Even  Dr. 
Johnson,  in  taking  note  of  a  reply  Blackmore 
made  to  his  critics,  chided  him  with  writing 
*'  in  language  such  as  Cheapside  easily  fur- 
nished. ' ' 

Other  ph5^sicians,  however,  resorted  to  Bat- 
son's  coffee-house  in  a  professional  and  not  a 
poetic  way.  The  character  of  its  frequenters 
was  described  in  a  lively  manner  in  the  first 
number  of  the  Connoisseur,  published  in  Jan- 
uary, 1754.  Having  devoted  a  few  sentences 
to  a  neighbouring  establishment,  the  writer 
noted  that  it  is  ''  but  a  short  step  to  a  gloomy 
class  of  mortals,  not  less  intent  on  gain  than 
the  stock-jobbers:  I  mean  the  dispensers  of 
life  and  death,  who  flock  together  like  birds  of 


Cofifee-Houses  on  'Change         175 


prey  watching  for  carcasses  at  Batson's.     I 
never  enter  this  place,  but  it  serves  as  a  me- 
mento niori  to  me.    What  a  formidable  assem- 
blage of  sable  suits,  and  tremendous  perukes ! 
I  have  often  met  here  a  most  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, whom  I  have    scarce   known   again;    a 
sprightly  young  fellow,  with  whom  I  have  spent 
many  a  jolly  hour;    but  being  just  dubbed  a 
graduate  in  physic,  he  has  gained  such  an  en- 
tire conquest  over  the  risible  muscles,  that  he 
hardly  vouchsafes  at  any  time  to  smile.    I  have 
heard  him  harangue,  with  all  the  oracular  im- 
portance of  a  veteran,  on  the  possibility  of 
Canning's  subsisting  for  a  whole  month  on  a 
few  bits  of  bread ;   and  he  is  now  preparing  a 
treatise,  in  which  he  will  set  forth  a  new  and 
infallible  method  to  prevent  the  spreading  of 
the  plague  from  France  to  England.    Batson's 
has  been  reckoned  the  seat  of  solemn  stupidity : 
yet  it  is  not  totally  devoid  of  taste  and  common 
sense.    They  have  among  them  physicians,  who 
can  cope  with  the  most  eminent  lawyers   or 
divines ;  and  critics,  who  can  relish  the  sal  vol- 
atile of  a  witty  composition,  or  determine  how 
much  fire  is  requisite  to  sublimate  a  tragedy 
secundum  art  em.''    The  house  served  a  useful 
purpose  at  a  time  when  physicians  were  not 
in  the  habit  of  increasing  their  knowledge  by 


176   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

visiting  the  wards  of  the  hospitals.  Batson's 
was  a  consulting-house  instead,  not  alone  for 
patients  but  for  the  doctors  themselves.  In 
this  respect,  then,  it  differed  from  the  generally 
commercial  character  of  the  coffee-houses  un- 
der the  shadow  of  the  Exchange. 

But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  commercial 
character  of  a  place  like  Garraway^s  in  Change 
Alley.  The  essayist  just  quoted  is  responsible 
for  a  story  to  the  effect  that  when  a  celebrated 
actor  was  cast  for  the  part  of  Shylock  he  made 
daily  visits  to  the  coffee-houses  near  the  Ex- 
change that  "by  a  frequent  intercourse  and 
conversation  with  ^  the  unforeskin'd  race,'  he 
might  habituate  himself  to  their  air  and  de- 
portment.*' And  the  same  chronicler  goes  on 
to  say  that  personally  he  was  never  more  di- 
verted than  by  a  visit  to  Garraway's  a  few 
days  before  the  drawing  of  a  lottery.  '^  I  not 
only  could  read  hope,  fear,  and  all  the  various 
passions  excited  by  a  love  of  gain,  strongly 
pictured  in  the  faces  of  those  who  came  to  buy; 
but  I  remarked  with  no  less  delight,  the  many 
little  artifices  made  use  of  to  allure  adventur- 
ers, as  well  as  the  visible  alterations  in  the 
looks  of  the  sellers,  according  as  the  demand 
for  tickets  gave  occasion  to  raise  or  lower  their 
price.     So   deeply  were   the   countenances   of 


■>       o 

«  .1  »  )        >  > 


GARRAWAY'S    COFFEE-HOUSE. 


( 
etc 


CoflPee-Houses  on  'Change         177 

these  bubble-brokers  impressed  with  attention 
to  the  main  chance,  and  their  minds  seemed 
so  dead  to  all  other  sensations,  that  one  might 
almost  doubt,  where  money  is  out  of  the  case, 
whether  a  Jew  ^  has  eyes,  hands,  organs,  di- 
mensions, affections,  passions.'  ''  But  lottery 
tickets  were  not  the  only  things  offered  for  sale 
at  Garraway's.  Wine  was  a  common  article 
of  sale  there  in  the  early  days,  and  in  the 
latter  career  of  the  house  it  became  famous 
as  an  auction-room  for  land  and  house  prop- 
erty. 

Thomas  Garraway  was  the  founder  of  the 
house,  the  same  who  is  credited  with  having 
been  the  first  to  retail  tea  in  England.  On  the 
success  of  Pasqua  Rosee  he  was  not  long,  ap- 
parently, in  adding  coffee  to  his  stock,  and 
then  turning  his  place  of  business  into  a  cof- 
fee-house. The  house  survived  till  1866,  and 
even  to  its  latest  years  kept  an  old-time  char- 
acter. A  frequenter  of  the  place  says  the 
ground-floor  was  furnished  with  cosy  mahog- 
any boxes  and  seats,  and  that  the  ancient  prac- 
tice of  covering  the  floor  with  sand  was  main- 
tained to  the  last. 

Two  other  houses,  Jonathan's  and  Sam's, 
were  notorious  for  their  connection  with  stock- 
jobbing.     The   latter,    indeed,    figured   prom- 


178   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

inently  in  the  gigantic  South  Sea  Bubble  fraud. 
And  even  when  that  was  exposed  Sam's  con- 
tinued to  be  the  headquarters  of  all  the  get- 
rich-quick  schemes  of  the  day.  Thus  in  one 
issue  of  a  newspaper  of  1720  there  were  two 
announcements  specially  designed  to  catch  the 
unwary.  One  notice  told  that  a  book  would  be 
opened  for  entering  into  a  joint-partnership 
''  on  a  thing  that  will  turn  to  the  advantage 
of  the  concerned,"  and  the  other  was  a  mod- 
est proposal  to  raise  two  million  pounds  for 
buying  and  improving  the  Fens  of  Lincoln- 
shire. 

Jonathan's  is  incidentally  described  by  Ad- 
dison as  ''  the  general  mart  of  stock-jobbers," 
and  in  that  amusing  account  of  himself  to  which 
he  devoted  the  first  number  of  the  Spectator 
he  explained  that  he  had  been  taken  for  a  mer- 
chant on  the  exchange,  '^  and  sometimes  passed 
for  a  Jew  in  the  assembly  of  stock-jobbers  at 
Jonatlian's."  Half  a  century  later  than  these 
allusions  the  Annual  Register  recorded  a  case 
tried  at  the  Guildhall  arising  out  of  an  assault 
at  this  coffee-house.  It  seems  that  the  master, 
Mr.  Ferres,  pushed  the  plaintiff,  one  Isaac 
Renoux,  out  of  his  house,  for  which  he  was 
fined  one  shilling  damages  on  it  being  proved 
at  the  trial  that ' '  the  house  had  been  a  market. 


in 

O 

K 
I 

w 

w 

o 


o 
c 

5: 


O 


Coffee-Houses  on  ^Change         179 


time  out  of  mind,  for  buying  and  selling  gov- 
ernment securities/' 

Such  houses  as  John's  in  Birchin  Lane  and 
the  Jerusalem  coffee-house,  which  was  situated 
in  a  court  off  Cornhill,  were  typical  places  of 
resort  for  merchants  trading  to  distant  parts 
of  the  world.    One  of  Eowlandson's  lively  cari- 
catures,  that  of  a  ^^  Mad  Dog  in  a   Coffee- 
House,''   is   a   faithful   representation   of  the 
interior  of  one  of  those  houses.    A  bill  on  the 
wall  shows  how  they  were  used  for  the  publi- 
cation of  shipping  intelligence,  that  particular 
placard  giving  details  of  the  sailing  of  ''  The 
Cerebus  ''  for  the  Brazils.    In  a  private  letter 
of  July  30th,  1715,  is  an  account  of  an  exciting 
incident  which  had  its  origin  in  the  Jerusalem 
coffee-house.    At  that  time  England  was  in  a 
state  of  commotion  over  the  Jacobite  insurrec- 
tion and  the  excitement  seems  to  have  turned 
the  head  of  a  Captain  Montague,  who  was  re- 
puted to  be  ''  a  civil  sober  man,''  of  good  prin- 
ciples and  in  good  circumstances.    He  had  en- 
tered the  Jerusalem  coffee-house  on  the  previ- 
ous day,  as  the  letter  relates,  and,  without  any 
provocation,  ''  of  a  sudden  struck  a  gentleman 
who  knew  him  a  severe  blow  on  the  eye;   im- 
mediately after,  drawing  his  sword,  ran  out 
through  the  alley  cross  Cornhill  still  with  it 


JL***' 


180    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

drawn;  and  at  the  South  entrance  of  the  Ex- 
change uttered  words  to  this  effect,  that  he 
was  come  in  the  face  of  the  Sun  to  proclaim 
James  the  third  King  of  England,  and  that 
only  he  was  heir.''  Whereupon  he  knocked 
down  another  gentleman,  who,  however,  had 
sense  enough  to  see  that  the  captain  was  out 
of  his  mind  and  called  for  assistance  to  secure 
him.  It  took  half  a  dozen  men  to  hold  him 
in  the  coach  which  carried  him  to  a  magis- 
trate, who  promptly  committed  him  to  a  mad- 
house. 

Tom's  coffee-house  was  situated  in  the  same 
thoroughfare  as  John's.  This  was  the  resort 
affected  by  Garrick  on  his  occasional  visits  to 
the  city,  and  is  also  thought  to  have  been  the 
house  frequented  by  Chatterton.  In  a  letter 
to  his  sister  that  ill-fated  poet  excused  the  hap- 
hazard nature  of  his  epistle  he  was  writing  her 
from  Tom's  on  the  plea  that  there  was  *^  such 
a  noise  of  business  and  politics  in  the  room." 
He  explained  that  his  present  business  —  the 
concocting  of  squibs,  tales  and  songs  on  the 
events  of  the  day  —  obliged  him  to  frequent 
places  of  the  best  resort. 

In  view  of  its  subsequent  career  no  coffee- 
house of  the  city  proper  was  of  so  much  im- 
portance as  that  founded  by  Edward  Lloyd. 


'*    •»        s 


1.^    ■. 


tom's  coffee-house. 


.    < 


c  f.   e 


Coffee-Houses  on  'Change         181 


He  first  appears  in  tke  history  of  old  London 
as  the  keeper  of  a  coffee-house  in  Tower  Street 
in  1688,  but  about  four  years  later  he  removed 
to  Lombard  Street  in  close  proximity  to  the 
Exchange,  and  his  house  gradually  became  the 
recognized  centre  of  shipbroking  and  marine 
insurance  business,  for  which  the  corporation 
still  bearing  the  name  of  Lloyd's  is  renowned 
all  over  the  world. 

Two  pictures  of  Lloyd's  as  it  was  in  the  first 
decade   of  the   eighteenth  century   are   to   be 
found  in  the  gallery  of  English  literature,  one 
from  the  pen  of  Steele,  the  other  from  that  of 
Addison.    The  first  is  in  the  form  of  a  petition 
to  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esq.,  from  the  customers 
of  the  house,  and  begged  that  he  would  use  his 
influence  to  get  other  coffee-houses  to  adopt  a 
custom   which    prevailed   at    Lloyd's.      Great 
scandal,  it  seems,  had  been  caused  by  coffee- 
house orators  of  the  irresponsible  order.    Such 
nuisances  were  not  tolerated  at  Lloyd's.    The 
petitioners  explained  —  and  by  inference  the 
explanation  preserves  a  record  of  the  internal 
economy  of  the  house  —  that  at  Lloyd's  a  serv- 
ant was  deputed  to  ascend  the  pulpit  in  the 
room  and  read  the  news  on  its  arrival,  ''  while 
the  whole  audience  are  sipping  their  respective 
liquors."     The  application  of  the  petition  lay 


182   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

in  the  suggestion  that  this  method  should  be 
adopted  in  all  coffee-houses,  and  that  if  any- 
one wished  to  orate  at  large  on  any  item  of  the 
news  of  the  day  he  should  be  obliged  to  ascend 
the  pulpit  and  make  his  comments  in  a  formal 
manner. 

Evidently  the  pulpit  at  Lloyd's  was  a  settled 
institution.  It  played  a  consj^icuous  part  in 
that  ludicrous  incident  which  Addison  describes 
at  his  own  expense.  It  was  his  habit,  he  ex- 
plained, to  jot  down  from  time  to  time  brief 
hints  such  as  could  be  expanded  into  Spectator 
papers,  and  a  sheetful  of  such  hints  would  nat- 
urally look  like  a  ''  rhapsody  of  nonsense  "  to 
any  one  save  the  writer  himself.  Such  a  sheet 
he  accidentally  dropped  in  Lloyd's  one  day, 
and  before  he  missed  it  the  boy  of  the  house 
had  it  in  iTis  hand  and  was  carrying  it  around 
in  search  of  its  owner.  But  Addison  did  not 
know  that  until  it  was  too  late.  Many  of  the 
customers  had  glanced  at  its  contents,  which 
had  caused  them  so  much  merriment  that  the 
boy  was  ordered  to  ascend  the  pulpit  and  read 
the  paper  for  the  amusement  of  the  comj)Qny 
at  large.  '^  The  reading  of  this  paper,"  con- 
tinues Addison,  ''  made  the  whole  coffee-house 
verv  merrv;  some  of  them  concluded  that  it 
was  written  by  a  madman,  and  others  by  some- 


^3        15 


c  c 

c5 


Coffee-Houses  on  Change         183 


body  that  had  been  taking  notes  out  of  the 
Spectator.    One  who  had  the  appearance  of  a 
very  substantial  citizen  told  us,  with  several 
political  winks  and  nods,  that  he  wished  there 
was  no  more  in  the  paper  than  what  was  ex- 
pressed in  it :  that  for  his  part,  he  looked  upon 
the  dromedary,  the  gridiron,  and  the  barber's 
pole,  to  signify  something  more  than  what  was 
usually  meant  by  those  words:    and  that  he 
thought  the  coffee-man  could  not  do  better  than 
to  carry  the  paper  to  one  of  the  secretaries  of 
state."     In  the  midst  of  the  numerous  other 
comments,  wise  and  otherwise,  Addison  reached 
for  the  paper,  pretended  to  look  it  over,  shook 
his  head  twice  or  thrice,  and  then  twisted  it 
into  a  match  and  lit  his  pipe  with  it.    The  ruse 
diverted  suspicion,  especially  as  Addison  ap- 
plied himself  to  his  pipe  and  the  paper  he  was 
reading  with  seeming  unconcern.    And  he  con- 
soled the  readers  of  the  Spectator  with  the 
reflection  that  he  had  already  used  more  than 
half  the  hints   on  that  unfortunate   sheet   of 

notes. 

Since  those  almost  idyllic  days,  Lloyd's  has 
plaved  a  notable  part  in  the  life  of  the  nation. 
At 'its  headquarters  in  the  Eoyal  Exchange 
building  are  preserved  many  interesting  relics 
of  the  history  of  the  institution.    From  a  sim- 


184   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


pie  coffee-house  open  to  all  and  sundry,  it  has 
developed  into  the  shipping-exchange  of  the 
world,  employing  1,500  agents  in  all  parts  of 
the  globe. 


CHAPTER  II 

ROUND  ST.  Paul's 

If  there  was  a  certain  incongruity  in  the  phy- 
sicians having  their  special  coffee-house  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  there  was  none  in  clerics 
affecting  the  St.  PauPs  coffee-house  under  the 
shadow  of  the  cathedral  of  that  name.  This 
being  the  chief  church  of  the  metropolis,  not- 
withstanding the  greater  historic  importance 
of  Westminster  Abbey,  it  naturally  became  the 
religious  centre  of  London  so  far  as  clergymen 
were  concerned.  But  the  frequenters  of  this 
house  were  of  a  mixed  type.  That  historian 
of  Bat  son's  who  was  quoted  in  the  previous 
chapter,  related  that  after  leaving  its  dismal 
vicinity  he  was  glad  to  ''  breathe  the  pure  air 
in  St.  PauPs  coffee-house,"  but  he  was  obliged 
to  add  that  as  he  entertained  the  highest  ven- 
eration for  the  clergy  he  could  not  ''  contem- 
plate the  magnificence  of  the  cathedral  without 
reflecting  on  the  abject  condition  of  those  '  tat- 
ter'd  crapes,'  who  are  said  to  ply  here  for  an 
occasional  burial  or  sermon,  with  the  same  reg- 

185 


186   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


ularity  as  the  happier  drudges  who  salute  us 
with  the  cry  of  '  coach,  sir,'  or  '  chair,  your 
honour.'  ''  Somewhat  late  in  the  eighteenth 
century  St.  Paul's  coffee-house  had  a  distin- 
guished visitor  in  the  person  of  Benjamin 
Franklin,  who  here  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Kichard  Price,  that  philosophical  dissenting 
divine  whose  pamphlet  on  American  affairs  is 
said  to  have  had  no  inconsiderable  part  in  de- 
termining Americans  to  declare  their  indepen- 
dence. The  fact  that  Dr.  Price  frequented  the 
St.  Paul's  coffee-house  is  sufficient  proof  that 
its  clients  were  not  restricted  to  clergymen  of 
the  established  church. 

More  miscellaneous  was  the  patronage  of 
Child's,  another  resort  in  St.  Paul's  Church- 
yard. It  is  sometimes  described  as  having  been 
a  clerical  house  like  the  St.  Paul's,  and  one 
reference  in  the  Spectator  gives  some  support 
to  that  view.  The  writer  told  how  a  friend  of 
his  from  the  country  had  expressed  astonish- 
^ment  at  seeing  London  so  crowded  with  doctors 
of  divinity,  necessitating  the  explanation  that 
not  all  the  persons  in  scarfs  were  of  that  dig- 
nity, for,  this  authority  on  London  life  con- 
tinued, '*  a  young  divine,  after  his  first  degree 
in  the  university,  usually  comes  hither  only  to 
show  himself;    and  on  that  occasion,  is  apt  to 


Round  St.  Paul's  187 

think  he  is  but  half  equipped  with  a  gown  and 
cassock  for  his  public  appearance,  if  he  hath 
not  the  additional  ornament  of  a  scarf  of  the 
first  magnitude  to  entitle  him  to  the  appellation 
of  Doctor  from  his  landlady  and  the  boy  at 
Child's/'  There  is  another  allusion  to  the 
house  in  the  Spectator.  ^*  Sometimes  I  "  — 
the  writer  is  Addison  —  *  ^  smoke  a  pipe  at 
Child's,  and  while  I  seem  attentive  to  nothing 
but  the  Postman,  overhear  the  conversation  of 
every  table  in  the  room."  Apart  from  such 
decided  lay  patrons  as  Addison,  Child's  could 
also  claim  a  large  constituency  among  the  med- 
ical and  learned  men  of  the  day. 

Notwithstanding  its  ecclesiastical  name,  the 
Chapter  coffee-house  in  Paul's  Alley  was  not 
a  clerical  resort.  By  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  it  had  come  to  be  recognized  as 
the  rendezvous  of  publishers  and  booksellers. 
*^  The  conversation  here,"  to  appeal  to  the 
Connoisseur  once  more,  ^'  naturally  turns  upon 
the  newest  publications;  but  their  criticisms 
are  somewhat  singular.  When  they  say  a  good 
book,  they  do  not  mean  to  praise  the  style  or 
sentiment,  but  the  quick  and  extensive  sale 
of  it.  That  book  in  the  phrase  of  the  Conger 
is  best,  which  sells  most;  and  if  the  demand 
for  Quarles  should  be  greater  than  for  Pope, 


188   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


he  would  have  the  highest  place  on  the  rubric- 
post.  There  are  also  many  parts  of  every  work 
liable  to  their  remarks,  which  fall  not  within 
the  notice  of  less  accurate  observers.  A  few 
nights  ago  I  saw  one  of  these  gentlemen  take 
up  a  sermon,  and  after  seeming  to  peruse  it 
for  some  time  with  great  attention,  he  declared 
that  *  it  was  very  good  English/  The  reader 
will  judge  whether  I  was  most  surprised  or 
diverted,  when  I  discovered  that  he  was  not 
commending  the  purity  and  elegance  of  the  dic- 
tion, but  the  beauty  of  the  type;  which,  it 
seems,  is  known  among  printers  by  that  ap- 
pellation. We  must  not,  however,  think  the 
members  of  the  Conger  strangers  to  the  deeper 
parts  of  literature ;  for  as  carpenters,  smiths, 
masons,  and  all  mechanics,  smell  of  the  trade 
they  labour  at,  booksellers  take  a  peculiar  turn 
from  their  connexions  with  books  and  au- 
thors.*' 

Could  the  writer  of  that  gentle  satire  have 
looked  forward  about  a  quarter  of  a  century 
he  would  have  had  knowledge  on  which  to  have 
based  a  greater  eulogy  of  the  Congers.  It 
should  be  explained  perhaps  that  Conger  was 
the  name  of  a  club  of  booksellers  founded  in 
1715  for  co-operation  in  the  issuing  of  expen- 
sive works.    Booklovers  of  the  present  genera- 


Bound  St.  Paul's  189 


tion  may  often  wonder  at  the  portly  folios  of 
bygone  generations,  and  marvel  especially  that 
they  could  have  been  produced  at  a  profit  when 
readers  were  so  comparatively  few.  Many  of 
those  folios  owed  their  existence  to  the  scheme 
adopted  by  the  members  of  the  Conger,  a 
scheme  whereby  several  publishers  shared  m 
the  production  of  a  costly  work. 

Such  a  sharing  of  expense  and  profit  was 
entered  into  at  that  meeting  at  the  Chapter 
colfee-house     which    led    to     Dr.     Johnson's 
*^  Lives  of  the  English  Poets.''     The  London 
booksellers  of  that  time  were  alarmed  at  the 
invasion    of   what   they   called   their   literary 
property  by  a  Scottish  publisher  who  had  pre- 
sumed to  bring  out  an  edition  of  the  English 
poets.     To  counteract  this  move  from  Edin- 
burgh the  decision  was  reached  to  print  ''  an 
elegant  and  accurate  edition  of  all  the  English 
poets  of  reputation,  from  Chaucer  down  to  the 
present  time."     The  details  were  thoroughly 
debated  at  the  Chapter  coffee-house,  and  a  dep- 
utation was  appointed  to  wait  upon  Dr.  John- 
son, to  secure  his  services  in  editing  the  series. 
Johnson  accepted  the  task,  ''  seemed  exceed- 
ingly pleased  "  that  it  had  been  offered  him, 
and  agreed  to  carry  it  through  for  a  fee  of  two 
hundred  pounds.     His  moderation  astonished 


190   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


Malone;  **  had  he  asked  one  thousand,  or  even 
fifteen  hundred  guineas,  the  booksellers,  who 
knew  the  value  of  his  name,  would  doubtless 
have  readily  given  it.'' 

But  writers  of  books  as  well  as  makers  and 
sellers  of  books  could  be  found  on  occasion 
within  the  portals  of  the  Chapter  coffee-house. 
Two  memories  of  Goldsmith,  neither  of  them 
pleasant,  are  associated  with  the  house.  One 
is  concerned  with  his  acceptance  of  an  invita- 
tion to  dinner  here  with  Charles  Lloyd,  who, 
at  the  end  of  the  meal,  walked  off  and  left  his 
guest  to  pay  the  bill.  The  other  incident  intro- 
duces the  vicious  William  Kenrick,  that  hack- 
writer who  slandered  Goldsmith  without  cause 
on  so  many  occasions.  Shortly  after  the  pub- 
lication of  one  of  his  libels  in  the  press,  Ken- 
rick was  met  by  Goldsmith  accidentally  in  the 
Chapter  and  made  to  admit  that  he  had  lied. 
But  no  sooner  had  the  poet  left  the  house  than 
the  cowardly  retractor  began  his  abuse  again 
to  the  company  at  large. 

Chatterton,  too,  frequented  the  house  in  his 
brief  days  of  London  life.  ^ '  I  am  quite  famil- 
iar at  the  Chapter  Coffee-House,"  he  wrote  his 
mother,  **  and  know  all  the  geniuses  there.'' 
And  five  years  later  there  is  this  picture  of  the 
democratic  character  of  the  resort  from  the 


Round  St.  PauPs  191 


shocked  pen  of  one  who  had  been  attracted 
thither  by  the  report  of  its  large  library  and 
select  company:  ^'  Here  I  saw  a  specimen  of 
English  freedom.  A  whitesmith  in  his  apron 
and  some  of  his  saws  under  his  arm  came  in, 
sat  down,  and  called  for  his  glass  of  punch  and 
the  paper,  both  which  he  used  with  as  much 
ease  as  a  lord.  Such  a  man  in  Ireland  and,  I 
suppose,  in  France  too,  and  almost  any  other 
country,  would  not  have  shown  himself  with 
his  hat  on,  nor  any  way,  unless  sent  for  by  some 
gentleman. ' ' 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  association  of 
the  Chapter  coffee-house  was  that  destined  to 
come  to  it  when  its  race  was  nearly  run.  On  a 
July  evening  in  1848  the  waiter  was  somewhat 
startled  at  the  appearance  of  two  simply- 
dressed,  slight  and  timid-looking  ladies  seek- 
ing accommodation.  Women  guests  were  not 
common  at  the  Chapter.  But  these  two  were 
strangers  to  London;  they  had  never  before 
visited  the  great  city;  and  the  only  hostelry 
they  knew  was  the  Chapter  they  had  heard 
their  father  speak  about.  So  it  was  to  the 
Chapter  that  Charlotte  and  Anne  Bronte  went 
when  they  visited  London  to  clear  up  a  difficulty 
with  their  publishers.  Smith  and  Elder.  Mrs. 
Gaskell  describes  the  house  as  it  was  in  those 


192   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

July  days.  ^ '  It  had  the  appearance  of  a  dwell- 
ing-house two  hundred  years  old  or  so,  such  as 
one  sometimes  sees  in  ancient  country  towns; 
the  ceilings  of  the  small  rooms  were  low,  and 
had  heavy  beams  running  across  them;  the 
walls  were  wainscoted  breast-high;  the  stairs 
were  shallow,  broad,  and  dark,  taking  up  much 
space  in  the  centre  of  the  house.  The  gray- 
haired  elderly  man  who  officiated  as  waiter 
seems  to  have  been  touched  from  the  very  first 
by  the  quiet  simplicity  of  the  two  ladies,  and 
he  tried  to  make  them  feel  comfortable  and  at 
home  in  the  long,  low,  dingy  room  upstairs. 
The  high,  narrow  windows  looked  into  the 
gloomy  Row;  the  sisters,  clinging  together  in 
the  most  remote  window-seat  (as  Mr.  Smith 
tells  me  he  found  them  when  he  came  that  Sat- 
urday evening),  could  see  nothing  of  motion 
or  of  change  in  the  grim,  dark  houses  oppo- 
site, so  near  and  close,  although  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  Row  was  between.''  If  it  were 
only  for  the  sake  of  those  startled  sisters  from 
the  desolate  Yorkshire  moors  one  could  wish 
that  the  Chapter  coffee-house  were  still  stand- 
ing. But  it  is  not.  Nor  are  there  any  vestiges 
remaining  of  the  St.  Paul's  or  Child's. 

Nor  will  the  pilgrim  fare  better  in  the  adja- 
cent thoroughfare  of  Ludgate  Hill.     Not  far 


Round  St.  Paul's  193 


down  that  highway  could  once  be  found  the 
London  coffee-house,  which  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin frequented,  and  where  that  informal  club 
for  philosophical  discussions  of  which  Dr. 
Priestly  was  the  chairman  held  its  social  meet- 
ings. The  London  continued  in  repute  among 
American  visitors  for  many  years.  When 
Charles  Robert  Leslie,  the  artist,  reached  Lon- 
don in  1811  intent  on  prosecuting  his  art  stud- 
ies, he  tells  how  he  stopped  for  a  few  days  ''  at 
the  London  Coffee-house  on  Ludgate  Hill,  with 
Mr.  Inskeep  and  other  Americans.'' 

Further  west,  in  the  yard  of  that  Belle  Sau- 
vage  inn  described  in  an  earlier  chapter,  there 
existed  in  1730  a  coif ee-house  known  as  Wills', 
but  of  which  nothing  save  one  somewhat  pa- 
thetic incident  is  on  record.  The  memory  of 
this  incident  is  preserved  among  the  manu- 
scripts of  the  Duke  of  Portland  in  the  form  of 
two  letters  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford.  The  first 
letter  is  anonymous.  It  was  wintten  to  the  earl 
on  Febi^uary  8th,  1730,  in  the  interests  of  Will- 
iam Oldisworth,  that  unfortunate  miscellane- 
ous writer  whose  adherence  to  the  Stuart  cause 
helped,  along  with  a  liking  for  tavern-life,  to 
mar  his  career.  This  anonymous  correspond- 
ent had  learnt  that  Oldisworth  was  in  a  starv- 
ing condition,  out  of  clothes  likewise,  and  la- 


194   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


bouring  under  many  infirmities.  ''  Though  no 
man  has  deserved  better  of  his  country,  yet  is 
none  more  forgot."  The  letter  also  hinted  at 
the  fact  that  Oldisworth  would  not  complain, 
nor  suffer  any  one  to  do  that  office  for  him. 
But  the  writer  was  wise  enough  to  enclose  the 
address  of  the  man  in  whose  behalf  he  made 
so  adroit  an  appeal,  that  address  being  Wills' 
coffee-house  in  the  Belle  Sauvage  yard. 

Edward  Harley,  that  Earl  of  Oxford  who 
preferred  above  all  things  to  surround  himself 
with  poets  and  men  of  letters,  and  whose  gen- 
erosity helped  to  bring  about  his  financial  ruin, 
was  not  the  man  to  ignore  a  letter  of  that  kind. 
Some  assistance  was  speedily  on  its  way  to 
WilPs  coffee-house,  for  on  February  21st  Oldis- 
worth was  penning  an  epistle  which  was  to 
*^  wait  in  all  humility  on  your  Lordship  to  re- 
turn you  my  best  thanks  for  the  late  kind  and 
generous  favour  you  conferred  on  me."  He 
sent  the  earl  an  ancient  manuscript  as  token 
of  his  gratitude,  explained  that  he  was  igno- 
rant of  the  one  who  had  written  in  his  behalf, 
and  for  the  rest  was  determined  to  keep  his 
present  station,  low  as  it  was,  with  content 
and  resignation.  The  inference  is  that  WilPs 
coffee-house  was  but  a  lowly  and  inexpensive 
abode  and  hence  it  is  not  surprising  that  it 


Round  St.  Paul's  195 


makes  so  small  a  showing  in  the  annals  of  old 

London. 

At  the  western  end  of  Fleet  Street  the 
passer-by  cannot  fail  to  be  attracted  by  the 
picturesque,  timbered  house  which  faces  Chan- 
cery Lane.  This  unique  survival  of  the  past, 
which  has  been  carefully  restored  within  re- 
cent years,  has  often  been  described  as  ''  For- 
merly the  Palace  of  Henry  VIII  and  Cardinal 
Wolsey.''  Another  legend  is  that  the  room 
on  the  first  floor  was  the  council-chamber  of  the 
Duchy  of  Cornwall  under  Henry,  the  eldest  son 
of  James  I.  More  credible  is  the  statement 
that  Nando 's  coffee-house  was  once  kept  under 
this  roof.  In  the  days  when  he  was  a  briefless 
barrister,  Thurlow  was  a  frequent  visitor  here, 
attracted,  it  is  said,  as  were  so  many  more  of 
the  legal  fraternity,  by  the  dual  merits  of  the 
punch  and  the  physical  charms  of  the  land- 
lady's daughter.  Miss  Humphries  was,  as  a 
punster  put  it,  ''  always  admired  at  the  bar  by 
the  bar. ' '  The  future  Lord  Chancellor  had  no 
cause  to  regret  his  patronage  of  Nando 's.  So 
convincingly  did  he  one  day  prove  his  skill  in 
argmnent  that  a  stranger  present  bestirred 
himself,  and  successfully,  to  have  the  young 
advocate  retained  in  a  famous  law  case  of  the 
time,  an  apppointment  which  led  to  Thurlow's 


196   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


becoming    acquainted    with    the    Duchess    of 
Queensbury,  with  after  important  results. 

During  those  stirring  days  when  the 
*<  Wilkes  and  Liberty  ''  riots  caused  such  in- 
tense excitement  in  London,  one  worthy  mer- 
chant of  the  city  found  Nando 's  a  valuable 
place  of  refuge.  Arrangements  had  been  made 
for  a  body  of  merchants  and  tradesmen  of  the 
city  to  wait  on  George  III  at  St.  James's  with 
a  loyal  address  and  as  token  of  their  sympathy 
with  the  position  assumed  by  that  obstinate 
monarch.  But  on  the  night  before  handbills 
had  been  scattered  broadcast  desiring  all  true 
and  loyal  subjects  to  meet  on  the  following  day 
and  form  a  procession  towards  the  city,  taking 
particular  care  ^  ^  not  to  interfere  with  the  Mer- 
chants going  to  St.  James's.''  The  handbill 
had  the  desired  effect.  The  cavalcade  of  mer- 
chants was  scattered  in  confusion  long  before 
it  reached  Temple-bar,  and  isolated  members  of 
the  party,  few  in  number,  did  their  best  to 
reach  the  royal  palace  by  roundabout  ways. 
Even  so  they  were  a  sorry  spectacle.  For  the 
other  loyal  subjects  of  the  king  had  liberally 
bespattered  them  with  mud.  Nor  was  this  the 
most  disconcerting  feature  of  their  situation. 
Having  reached  the  presence  of  their  sover- 


Round  St.  PauPs  197 

eign  it  was  certainly  annoying  that  they  could 
not  present  the  address  which  had  brought 
them  into  all  this  trouble.  But  the  fact  was  the 
address  was  missing.  It  had  been  conunitted 
to  the  care  of  a  Mr.  Boehm,  and  he  was  not 
present.  As  a  matter  of  fact  Mr.  Boehm  had 
fled  for  refuge  to  Nando 's  coffee-house,  leaving 
the  precious  address  under  the  seat  of  his 
coach.  The  rioters  were  not  aware  of  that 
fact,  and  it  seems  that  the  document  was  even- 
tually recovered,  after  his  Majesty  had  been 
*^  kept  waiting  till  past  ^ve.^^ 

There  is  a  fitness  in  the  fact  that  as  Thur- 
low's  name  is  linked  with  Nando 's  coffee-house 
so  Cowper's  memory  is  associated  with  the 
adjacent  establishment  known  as  Dick^s.  The 
poet  and  the  lawyer  had  been  fellow  clerks  in 
a  solicitor's  office,  had  spent  their  time  in  *'  gig- 
gling and  making  giggle  '*  with  the  daughters 
of  Cowper's  uncle,  and  been  boon  friends  in 
many  ways.  The  future  poet  foretold  the  fame 
of  his  friend,  and  extorted  a  playful  promise 
that  when  he  was  Lord  Chancellor  he  would 
provide  for  his  fellow  clerk.  The  prophecy 
came  true,  but  the  promise  was  forgotten. 
Thurlow  did  not  even  deign  to  notice  the  po- 
etical address  of  his  old  companion,  nor  did  he 


198   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

acknowledge  the  receipt  of  his  first  volume  of 
verse.  ''  Be  great/'  the  indignant  poet 
wrote  — 


a 


Be  great,  be  fear'd,  be  envied,  be  admired; 
To  fame  as  lasting  as  the  earth  pretend. 
But  not  hereafter  to  the  name  of  friend !  " 


For  Thurlow  the  ungrateful,  Nando  *s  was  as- 
sociated with  his  first  step  up  the  ladder  of 
success;  for  Cowper,  Dick's  was  the  scene  of 
an  agony  that  he  remembered  to  his  dying  day. 
For  it  was  while  he  was  at  breakfast  in  this 
coffee-house  that  he  was  seized  with  one  of  his 
painful  delusions.  A  letter  he  read  in  a  paper 
he  interpreted  as  a  satire  on  himself,  and  he 
threw  the  paper  down  and  rushed  from  the 
room  with  a  resolve  either  to  find  some  house 
in  which  to  die  or  some  ditch  where  he  could 
poison  himself  unseen. 

Keference  has  already  been  made  to  the 
Kainbow  as  one  of  the  famous  taverns  of  Fleet 
Street,  and  also  to  the  fact  that  it  was  a  coffee- 
house ere  it  became  a  tavern.  But  somehow 
it  was  as  a  coffee-house  that  it  was  usually 
y  regarded.  It  is  so  described  in  1679,  in  1708, 
in  1710,  and  in  1736.  Under  the  earliest  date 
it  appears  as  playing  a  part  in  the  astounding 
story  of  Titus  Oates.     One  of  the  victims  of 


Round  St.  Paul's  199 

that  unrivalled  perjurer  was  Sir  Philip  Lloyd, 
whom  Gates  declared  had  ^  ^  in  a  sort  of  bravery- 
presented  himself  in  the  Rainbow  coffee-house, 
and  declared  he  did  not  believe  any  kind  of 
plot  against  the  King's  person,  notwithstand- 
ing what  any  Jiad  said  to  the  contrary. ' '  This 
was  sufficient  to  arouse  the  enmity  of  the  wily 
Gates,  who  had  the  knight  haled  before  the 
council  and  closely  examined.  Sir  Philip  ex- 
plained that  he  had  only  said  he  knew  of  no 
other  than  a  fantastic  plot,  but,  as  a  contem- 
porary letter  puts  it,  ''  Gates  had  got  ready 
four  shrewd  coffee-drinkers,  then  present,  who 
swore  the  matter  point  blank.''  So  the  per- 
jurer won  again,  and  Sir  Philip  was  suspended 
during  the  king's  pleasure  as  the  outcome  of 
his  Rainbow  coffee-house  speech. 

But  there  is  a  pleasanter  memory  with  which 
to  bid  this  famous  resort  farewell.  It  is  en- 
shrined in  a  letter  of  the  early  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, wishing  that  the  recipient  might,  if  he 
could  find  a  leisure  evening,  drop  into  the  Rain- 
bow, where  he  would  meet  several  friends  of 
the  writer  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  that 
house,  gentlemen  of  great  worth  and  whom  it 
would  be  a  pleasure  to  know. 


CHAPTER   in 

THE   STRAND   AND   COVENT    GARDEN 

How  markedly  the  coffee-houses  of  London 
were  differentiated  from  each  other  by.  the 
opening  of  the  eighteenth  century  is  nowhere 
more  clearly  demonstrated  than  in  Steele's  first 
issue  of  the  Tatler.  After  hoodwinking  his 
readers  into  thinking  he  had  a  correspondent 
*^  in  all  parts  of  the  known  and  knowing 
world/'  he  informed  them  that  it  was  his  in- 
tention to  print  his  news  under  **  such  dates 
of  places  v  as  would  provide  a  key  to  the  mat- 
ter they  were  to  expect.  Thus,  ^*  all  accounts 
of  gallantry,  pleasure,  and  entertainment,  shall 
be  under  the  article  of  White's  Chocolate-house ; 
poetry,  under  that  of  Will's  Coffee-house; 
learning,  under  the  title  of  the  G'recian;  for- 
eign and  domestic  news,  you  shall  have  from 
Saint  James's  Coffee-house,  and  what  else  I 
have  to  offer  on  any  other  subject  shall  be  dated 
from  my  own  apartment." 

Several  days  elapsed  ere  there  was  anything 
to  report  from  the  Grecian  coffee-house,  which 

200 


strand  and  Co  vent  Garden        201 


was  situated  in  Devereux  Court,  Strand,  and 
derived  its  name  from  the  fact  that  it  was  kept 
by  a  Greek  named  Constantine.  When  it  does 
make  its  appearance,  however,  the  information 
given  under  its  name  is  strictly  in  keeping  with 
the  cliaracter  Steele  gave  the  house.  "  While 
other  parts  of  the  town  are  amused  with  the 
present  actions,  we  generally  spend  the  evening 
at  this  table  in  inquiries  into  antiquity,  and 
think  anything  news  which  gives  us  new  knowl- 
edge." And  then  follow  particulars  of  how 
the  learned  Grecians  had  been  amusing  them- 
selves by  trying  to  arrange  the  actions  of  the 
Iliad  in  chronological  order.  This  task  seems 
to  have  been  accomplished  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner, but  there  was  an  occasion  when  a  point  of 
scholarship  had  a  less  placid  ending.  Two  gen- 
tlemen, so  the  story  goes,  who  were  constant 
companions,  drifted  into  a  dispute  at  the  Gre- 
cian one  evening  over  the  accent  of  a  Greek 
word.  The  argument  was  protracted  and  at 
length  grew  angr^^  As  neither  could  convince 
the  other  by  mere  words,  the  resolve  was  taken 
to  decide  the  matter  by  swords.  So  the  erst- 
while friends  stepped  out  into  the  court,  and, 
after  a  few  passes,  one  of  them  was  run  through 
the  body,  and  died  on  the  spot. 

That  the  Grecian  maintained  its  character 


202   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

as  the  resort  of  learned  disputants  may  be  in- 
ferred from  the  heated  discussions  which  took 
place  within  its  walls  when  Burke  confused  the 
public  with  his  imitation  of  the  style  and  lan- 
guage of  Bolinbroke  in  his  '^  Vindication  of 
Natural  Society."  All  the  critics  were  com- 
pletely deceived.  And  Charles  Macklin  in  par- 
ticular distinguished  himself  by  rushing  into 
the  Grecian  one  evening,  flourishing  a  copy  of 
the  pamphlet,  and  declaring,  ^'  Sir,  this  must 
be  Harry  Bolinbroke ;  I  know  him  by  his  cloven 
foot!  '^ 

Even  if  it  were  not  for  that  fatal  duel  be- 
tween the  two  Grreek  scholars,  there  are  anec- 
dotes to  show  that  some  frequenters  of  the  house 
were  of  an  aggressive  nature.  There  is  the 
story,  for  example,  of  the  bully  who  insisted 
upon  a  particular  seat,  but  came  in  one  evening 
and  found  it  occupied  by  another. 

'^  Who  is  that  in  my  seat!  '^ 

*^  I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter. 

''  Where  is  the  hat  I  left  on  it?  " 

'^  He  put  it  in  the  fire." 

/^  Did  he?  damnation!  but  a  fellow  who 
would  do  that  would  not  mind  flinging  me  after 
it!  "  and  with  that  he  disappeared. 

Men  of  science  as  well  as  scholars  gave  lib- 
eral patronage  to  the  Grecian.    It  was  a  com- 


y    1     ■)    ■> 


'      '    ,  > 


fC^- 


.^-.'^ 


-y:^^^. 


'      >        ,       >     ,     )      >         >  3 

J ^    '     3    3  '      1     \  >      »       )  ,3 

1      '>     •>  3      3    1^5 


^-  I'ffV 


GRECIAN    COFFEE-HOUSE. 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        203 


mon  thing  for  meetings  of  the  Koyal  Society 
to  be  continued  in  a  social  way  at  this  coffee- 
house, the  president,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  being 
frequently  of  the  parties.  Hither,  too,  came 
Professor  Halley,  the  great  astronomer,  to 
meet  his  friends  on  his  weekly  visit  to  London 
from  Oxford,  and  Sir  Hans  Sloane,  that  zeal- 
ous collector  of  curiosities,  was  often  to  be  met 
at  the  Grecian.  Nor  did  the  house  wholly  lack 
patrons  of  the  pen,  for  Goldsmith,  among  oth- 
ers, used  the  resort  quite  frequently. 

Goldsmith  was  also  a  faithful  customer  of 
George's  coffee-house  which  was  situated  close 
to  the  Grecian.  This  was  one  of  the  places  to 
which  he  had  his  letters  addressed,  and  the 
house  figures  in  one  of  his  essays  as  the  resort 
of  a  certain  young  fellow  who,  whenever  he  had 
occasion  to  ' '  ask  his  friend  for  a  guinea,  used 
to  prelude  his  request  as  if  he  wanted  two  hun- 
dred, and  talked  so  familiarly  of  large  sums  ' ' 
that  no  one  would  have  imagined  him  ever  to 
be  in  need  of  small  ones.  It  was  the  same 
young  fellow  at  George's  who,  whenever  he 
wanted  credit  for  a  new  suit  from  his  tailor, 
used  to  dress  himself  in  laced  clothes  in  which 
to  give  the  order,  for  he  had  found  that  to  ap- 
pear shabby  on  such  occasions  defeated  the 
purpose  he  had  in  view. 


204    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

Most  likely  Goldsmith  sketched  his  certain 
young  fellow  from  life.  There  was  another 
frequenter  of  the  place  who  would  have  pro- 
vided an  original  for  another  character  study. 
This  was  that  Sir  James  Lowther,  afterwards 
Earl  of  Lonsdale,  of  whom  the  story  is  told 
that  having  one  day  changed  a  piece  of  silver 
in  the  coffee-house,  and  paid  twopence  for  his 
cup  of  coffee,  he  was  helped  into  his  carriage 
and  driven  home,  only  to  return  a  little  later 
to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
given  a  bad  halfpenny  in  his  change  and  de- 
mand another  in  exchange.  All  this  was  in 
keeping  with  the  character  of  the  man,  for 
despite  the  fact  that  he  had  an  income  of  forty 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  he  was  notorious  for 
his  miserly  conduct,  and  would  not  pay  even 
his  just  debts. 

There  was  another  legend  connected  with 
George's  which  Horace  Walpole  ought  not  to 
have  destroyed.  In  telling  a  correspondent  of 
the  amusement  with  which  he  had  been  reading 
Shenstone's  letters,  he  took  ocasion  to  charac- 
terize as  vulgar  and  devoid  of  truth  an  anec- 
dote told  of  his  father,  Lord  Orford.  This  was 
the  story  that  his  father,  ^^  sitting  in  George's, 
was  asked  to  contribute  to  a  figure  of  himself 
that  was  to  be  beheaded  by  the  mob.    I  do  re- 


strand  and  Oovent  Garden        205 

member  something  like  it/^  Walpole  continued, 
' '  but  it  happened  to  myself.  I  met  a  mob,  just 
after  my  father  was  put  out,  in  Hanover- 
square,  and  drove  up  to  it  to  know  what  was 
the  matter.  They  were  carrying  about  a  figure 
of  my  sister. ''  Walpole  traded  so  largely  in 
traditional  stories  himself  that  it  was  ungrate- 
ful of  him  to  spoil  so  good  a  one. 

On  the  way  to  Bedford  Street,  where  Wild- 
man's  coifee-house  was  situated,  the  pilgrim 
will  pass  the  site  of  the  Somerset  coffee-house, 
which  was  notable  in  its  day  from  the  fact  that 
some  of  the  letters  of  Junius  were  left  here, 
the  waiters  being  paid  tips  for  taking  them  in. 
Wildman's  was  notorious  as  being  the  favour- 
ite headquarters  of  the  supporters  of  John 
Wilkes,  and  hence  the  lines  of  Churchill : 

"  Each  dish  at  Wildman's  of  sedition  smacks ; 
.  Blasphemy  may  be  Grospel  at  Almacks. 

Peace,  good  Discretion,  peace,  —  thy  fears  are  vain ; 
Ne^er  will  I  herd  with  Wildman's  factious  train.^' 

Among  the  notable  coffee-houses  of  Covent 
Garden  were  the  Bedford,  King's,  Eawthmell's 
and  Tom's.  The  first  was  situated  under  the 
Piazza,  and  could  count  among  its  patrons 
Fielding,  Pope,  Sheridan,  Churchill,  Garrick, 
Foote,    Quinn,    Collins,    Horace   Walpole   and 


\ 


206    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

others.  Its  characters,  according  to  the  Con- 
noisseur, afforded  a  greater  variety  of  nearly 
the  same  type  as  those  to  be  found  at  George's. 
It  was,  this  authority  asserts,  crowded  every 
night  with  men  of  parts.  Almost  every  one  to 
be  met  there  was  a  polite  scholar  and  a  wit. 
**  Jokes  and  hon  mots  are  echoed  from  box  to 
box;  every  branch  of  literature  is  critically 
examined,  and  the  merit  of  every  production 
of  the  press,  or  performance  at  the  theatres, 
weighed  and  determined.  This  school  (to 
which  I  am  myself  indebted  for  a  great  part 
of  my  education,  and  in  which,  though  un- 
worthy, I  am  now  arrived  at  the  honour  of  be- 
ing a  public  lecturer)  has  bred  up  many  au- 
thors, to  the  amazing  entertainment  and  in- 
struction of  their  readers.'' 

But  the  Bedford  coffee-house  has  a  more  sen- 
sational association.  It  was  here,  according 
to  Horace  Walpole,  that  James  Hackman  spent 
his  last  few  hours  of  freedom  ere  he  murdered 
Martha  Bay  as  she  was  leaving  Covent  Grarden 
theatre  on  the  night  of  April  17th,  1779.  No 
tragedy  of  that  period  caused  so  great  a  sen- 
sation. Miss  Bay  had  for  some  years  been  the 
mistress  of  the  Earl  of  Sandwich,  at  whose 
house  Hackman  first  met  and  fell  in  love  with 
her.    There  are  good  reasons  for  believing  that 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        207 

his  love  was  returned  for  a  time,  but  that  after- 
wards Miss  Ray  determined  to  continue  in  her 
irregular  relation  with  the  nobleman.  On 
learning  that  his  suit  was  wholly  hopeless, 
Hackman  conceived  the  plan  which  had  so  fatal 
an  ending.  The  question  as  to  whether  the  fact 
that  he  provided  himself  with  two  pistols  was 
proof  that  he  intended  to  take  his  own  life  as 
well  as  that  of  Miss  Ray  was  the  theme  of  a 
warm  discussion  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  his 
friend  Beauclerk,  the  latter  arguing  that  it  was 
not,  and  the  former  maintaining  with  equal  con- 
fidence that  it  was. 

King^s  coffee-house  was  nothing  more  than 
a  humble  shed,  an  early  representative  of  the 
peripatetic  coffee-stall  which  is  still  a  common 
sight  of  London  streets  in  the  early  morning. 
Kept  by  a  Thomas  King  who  absconded  from 
Eton  because  he  feared  that  his  fellowship 
would  be  denied  him,  it  was  the  resort  of  every 
rake  according  to  Fielding,  and,  in  the  phrase 
of  another,  was  '^  well  known  to  all  gentlemen 
to  whom  beds  are  unknown.''  On  the  other 
hand  Rawthmeirs  was  an  exceedingly  fashion- 
able house,  and  witnessed  the  founding  of  the 
Society  of  Arts  in  1754.  It  had  another  claim 
to  slight  distinction  as  being  the  resort  of  Dr. 
John  Armstrong,  the  poet  of  the  ^  ^  Art  of  Pre- 


208   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

serving  Plealth,''  and  a  man  so  generally  un- 
sociable that  one  acquaintance  described  him 
as  having  a  rooted  aversion  against  the  whole 
human  race,  except  a  few  friends,  and  they 
were  dead ! 

Judging  from  a  poetical  allusion  of  1703, 
Tom's  coffee-house  was  at  that  time  a  political 
resort.  A  little  later  it  was  distinguished  for 
its  fashionable  gatherings  after  the  theatre.  A 
traveller  through  England  in  1722  records  that 
at  Tom's  there  was  '^  playing  at  Picket,  and 
the  best  of  conversation  till  midnight.  Here 
you  will  see  blue  and  green  ribbons  and  Stars 
sitting  familiarly,  and  talking  with  the  same 
freedom  as  if  they  had  left  their  quality  and 
degrees  of  distance  at  home."  But  the  most 
interesting  picture  of  this  house  is  given  by 
William  Tiil.  He  writes :  ' '  The  house  in 
which  I  reside  was  the  famous  Tom's  Coffee- 
House,  memorable  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne ; 
and  for  more  than  half  a  century  afterwards : 
the  room  in  which  I  conduct  my  business  as  a 
coin  dealer  is  that  which,  in  1764,  by  a  guinea 
subscription  among  nearly  seven  hundred  of 
the  nobility,  foreign  ministers,  gentry,  and 
geniuses  of  the  age  —  was  made  the  card-room, 
and  place  of  meeting  for  many  of  the  now  illus- 
trious dead,  and  remained  so  till  1768,  when  a 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        209 

voluntary  subscription  among  its  members  in- 
duced Mr.  Haines,  tlie  then  proprietor,  to  take 
in  the  next  door  westward,  as  a  coffee-room; 
and  the  whole  floor  en  suite  was  constructed 
into  card  and  conversation  rooms. '^  It  seems 
that  the  house  took  its  name  originally  from 
the  first  landlord,  a  Captain  Thomas  West, 
who,  driven  distracted  by  the  agony  of  gout, 
committed  suicide  by  throwing  himself  from 
his  own  windows. 

Interesting,  as  has  been  seen,  as  are  the  asso- 
ciations which  cluster  round  the  coffee-houses 
of  this  district  already  mentioned,  their  fame 
is  slight  compared  with  the  glory  of  the  houses 
known  as  Will's  and  Button's. 

Macaulay  has  given  us  a  glowing  picture  of 
the  wits'  room  on  the  first  floor  at  Will's. 
Through  the  haze  of  tobacco  smoke  witJTwhich 
he  filled  the  apartment  we  can  see  earls,  and 
clergymen,  and  Templars,  and  university  lads, 
and  hack-workers.  We  can  hear,  too,  the  ani- 
mated tones  in  which  discussions  are  being  car- 
ried on,  discussions  as  to  whether  ^^  Paradise 
Lost  "  should  have  been  written  in  rhyme,  and 
many  another  literary  question  of  little  interest 
in  these  modern  days.  But,  after  all,  the  eye 
does  not  seek  out  earls,  or  clergy,  or  the  rest; 
nor  does  the  ear  wish  to  fill  itself  with  the 


210   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


sound  of  their  voices.  There  is  but  one  face, 
but  one  voice  at  Will's  in  which  the  interest 
of  this  time  is  as  keen  as  the  interest  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  That  face  and  voice  were 
the  face  and  voice  of  John  Dryden. 

Exactly  in  what  year  Dryden  first  chose  this 
coffee-house  as  his  favourite  resort  is  unknown. 
He  graduated  at  Cambridge  in  1654,  and  is  next 
found  in  London  lodging  with  a  bookseller  for 
whom  he  worked  as  a  hack-writer.  By  1662 
he  had  become  a  figure  of  some  consequence  in 
London  life,  and  a  year  later  his  first  play  was 
acted  at  the  King's  theatre.  Then,  in  the  pages 
of  Pepys,  he  is  seen  as  the  centre  of  that  group 
of  the  wits  which  he  was  to  dominate  for  a 
generation.  ''  In  Covent  Garden  to-night,'' 
wrote  Pepys  under  the  date  February  3rd,  1664, 
*^  going  to^  fetch  home  my  wife,  I  stopped  at 
the  great  Coffee-house  there,  where  I  never  was 
before;  where  Dryden,  the  poet,  I  knew  at 
Cambridge,  and  all  the  wits  of  tlie  town,  and 
Harris  the  player,  and  Mr.  Hoole,  of  our  col- 
lege. And,  had  I  had  time  then,  or  could  at 
other  times,  it  will  be  good  coming  hither,  for 
there,  I  perceive,  is  very  witty  and  pleasant 
discourse." 

With   what   persistence   this   tradition   sur- 
vived, the  tradition  of  Dryden  as  the  arbiter 


W      9   •    S       ■> 


JOHN    DRYDEN. 


c       c 


•  c  c 


C  b' 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        211 


of  literary  criticism  at  Will's  is  illustrated  by 
tlie  story  told  by  Dr.  Jolmson.    When  he  was 
a  young  man  he  had  a  desire  to  write  the  life 
of  Dryden,  and  as  a  first  step  in  the  gathering 
of  his  materials  he  applied  to  the  only  two 
persons  then  alive  who  had  known  him,  Swin- 
.ney  and  Gibber.     But  all  the  assistance  the 
former  could  give  him  was  to  the  effect  that 
at  Will's  Coffee-house  Dryden  had  a  particular 
chair  for  himself,  which  was  set  by  the  fire  in 
winter,  and  removed  to  the  balcony  in  summer ; 
and  the   extent  of  Gibber's  information  was 
that  he  remembered  the  poet  as  a  decent  old 
man,  judge  of  critical  disputes  at  Will's.    But 
happily  a  more  detailed  picture  of  Dryden  as 
the  centre  of  the  wits  at  Will's  has  survived. 
On  his  first  trip  to  London  as  a  youth  of  seven- 
teen, Francis  Lockier,  the  future  dean  of  Peter- 
borough, although  an  odd-looking  boy  of  awk- 
ward manners,  thrust  himself  into  the  coffee- 
house that  he  might  gaze  on  the  celebrated  men 
of  the  day.    ' '  The  second  time  that  ever  I  was 
there, ' '  Lockier  said,  ' '  Mr.  Dryden  was  speak- 
ing of  his  own  things,  as  he  frequently  did, 
especially  of  such  as  had  been  lately  published. 
'  If  anything  of  mine  is  good, '  says  he,  '  'tis 
Mac  Flecknoe;    and  I  value  myself  the  more 
upon  it,  because  it  is  the  first  piece  of  ridicule 


212   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

written  in  Heroics. '  On  hearing  this,  I  plucked 
up  my  spirit  to  say,  in  a  voice  just  loud  enough 
to  be  heard,  that  *  Mac  Flecknoe  was  a  very 
fine  poem;  but  that  I  had  not  imagined  it  to 
be  the  first  that  ever  was  writ  that  way.'  On 
this,  Dryden  turned  short  upon  me,  as  sur- 
prised at  my  interposing;  asked  how  long  I 
had  been  a  dabbler  in  poetry ;  and  added,  with 
a  smile,  ^  Pray,  sir,  what  is  it  that  you  did 
imagine  to  have  been  writ  so  before?  '  I  named 
Boileau's  Lutrin,  and  Tassoni's  Secchia  Rapita, 
which  I  had  read,  and  knew  Dryden  had  bor- 
rowed some  strokes  from  each.  '  'Tis  true,' 
said  Dryden,  ^  I  had  forgot  them.'  A  little 
after  Dryden  went  out,  and  in  going  spoke  to 
me  again,  and  desired  me  to  come  and  see  him 
next  day.  I  was  highly  delighted  with  the  invi- 
tation; went  to  see  him  accordingly,  and  was 
well  acquainted  with  him  after,  as  long  as  he 
lived." 

As  a  companion  to  this  picture  in  prose  there 
is  the  poetic  vignette  which  Prior  and  Mon- 
tague inserted  in  their  ^'  Country  Mouse  and 
the  City  Mouse,"  written  in  burlesque  of  Dry- 
den's  '^  Hind  and  Panther." 


"  Then  on  they  jogg'd ;   and  since  an  hour  of  talk 
Might  cut  a  banter  on  the  tedious  walk. 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        213 


As  I  remember,  said  the  sober  mouse, 

I've  heard  much  talk  of  the  Wits'  Coffee-house; 

Thither,  says  Brindle,  thou  shalt  go  and  see 

Priests  supping  coffee,  sparks  and  poets  tea ; 

Here  rugged  frieze,  there  quality  well  drest. 

These  baffling  the  grand  Senior,  those  the  Test, 

And  there  shrewd  guesses  made,  and  reasons  given, 

That  human  laws  were  never  made  in  heaven; 

But,  above  all,  what  shall  oblige  thy  sight. 

And  fill  thy  eyeballs  with  a  vast  delight, 

Is  the  poetic  judge  of  sacred  wit. 

Who  does  i'  th'  darkness  of  his  glory  sit ; 

And  as  the  moon  who  first  receives  the  light, 

With  which  she  makes  these  nether  regions  bright. 

So  does  he  shine,  reflecting  from  afar 

The  rays  he  borrowed  from  a  better  star ; 

For  rules,  which  from  Corneille  and  Kapin  flow, 

Admired  by  all  the  scribbling  herd  below. 

From  French  tradition  while  he  does  dispense 

Unerring  truths,  'tis  schism,  a  damned  offence, 

Jo  question  his,  or  trust  your  private  sense." 

f 
Dryden  appears  to  have  visited  Will's  every 

day.  His  rule  of  life  was  to  devote  his  morn- 
ings to  writing  at  home,  where  he  also  dined, 
and  then  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  day  at 
the  coffee-honse,  which  he  did  not  leave  till  late. 
There  came  a  night  for  the  poet  when  this  reg- 
ularity of  habit  had  unpleasant  consequences. 
A  Newsletter  of  December  23rd,  1679,  tells  the 
story:  ''  On  Thursday  night  last  Mr.  Dryden, 


214   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

the  poet,  oomeing  from  the  coffee-house  in 
Covent  Garden,  was  set  upon  by  three  or  four 
fellows,  and  very  soarly  beaten,  but  likewise 
very  much  cutt  and  wounded  with  a  sword.  It 
is  imagined  that  this  has  happened  to  him  be- 
cause of  a  late  satyr  that  is  laid  at  his  door, 
though  he  positively  disowned  it.''  The  com- 
piler of  that  paragraph  was  correct  in  his  sur- 
, .  mise.  The  hired  ruffians  who  assaulted  the 
solitary  poet  on  that  December  night  were  in 
the  pay  of  Lord  Rochester,  who  had  taken  mn- 
brage  at  a  publication  which,  although  not  writ- 
ten by  Dryden,  had  been  printed  with  such  a 
title-page  as  suggested  that  it  was  his  work. 
A  reward  of  fifty  pounds  was  offered  for  the 
discovery  of  the  perjjetrators  of  this  outrage, 
but  to  no  effect.  Still  it  is  some  consolation  to 
know  that  the  cowardly  Rochester  immediately 
fell  under  suspicion  as  the  author  of  the  attack. 
Less  reprehensible  is  the  story  told  of  a  Mr. 
Finch,  ^^  an  ingenious  young  gentleman,"  who, 
nearly  a  decade  later,  ^'  meeting  with  Mr.  Dry- 
den in  a  coffee-house  in  London,  publickly  be- 
fore all  the  company  wished  him  joy  of  his  new 
religion.  ^  Sir,'  said  Dryden,  ^  you  are  very 
much  mistaken;  my  religion  is  the  old  relig- 
ion.' ^  Nay,'  replied  the  other,  *  whatever  it 
be  in  itself  I  am  sure  'tis  new  to  you,  for  within 


5  ^  ',-• 


>    ',       )     ^  >      >       J  ,  ) 
5    1       't      ■)    •)  1 


JOSEPH    ADDISON. 


strand  and  Co  vent  Garden        215 

these  three  days  you  had  no  religion  at 
all/  '^ 

Dry  den  died  in  1700  and  for  a  time  Will's 
maintained  its  position  as  the  resort  of  the 
poets.  Did  not  Steele  say  that  all  his  accounts 
of  poetry  in  the  Tatler  would  appear  under  the 
name  of  that  house!  But  the  supremacy  of 
Will's  was  slowly  undermined,  so  that  even  in 
the  Tatler  the  confession  had  soon  to  be  made 
that  the  place  was  very  much  altered  since 
Dryden's  time.  The  change  had  been  for  the 
worse.  ^^  Where  you  used  to  see  songs,  epi- 
grams, and  satires  in  the  hands  of  every  man 
you  met,  you  now  have  only  a  pack  of  cards; 
and  instead  of  the  cavils  about  the  turn  of  the 
expression,  the  elegance  of  the  style,  and  the 
like,  the  learned  now  dispute  only  about  the 
truth  of  the  game."  This  is  all  confirmed  by 
that  traveller  who  took  notes  in  London  in 
1722,  and  found  there  was  playing  at  Picket 
at  Will's  after  the  theatre. 

Addison  was  the  chief  cause  of  this  trans- 
formation. And  Steele  helped  him.  The  fact 
is  that  about  1713  Addison  set  up  coffee-house 
keeper  himself.  That  is  to  say,  he  was  the 
means  of  getting  one  Daniel  Button,  once  serv- 
ant with  the  Countess  of  Warwick,  to  open  such 
an  establishment  in  close  proximity  to  Will's. 


216   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

For  Addison  to  remove  his  patronage  from 
Will's  to  Button's  meant  the  transference  of 
the  allegiance  of  the  wits  of  the  town  also,  con- 
sequently it  soon  became  known  that  the  wits 
were  gone  from  the  haunt  of  Dryden  to  the 
new  resort  affected  by  Addison.  And  a  close 
scrutiny  of  the  pages  of  the  Guardian  will  re- 
veal how  adroitly  Steele  aided  Addison's  plan. 
Thus,  the  issue  of  the  Guardian  for  June  17th, 
1713,  was  devoted  to  the  habits  of  coffee-house 
orators,  and  especially  to  the  objectionable 
practice  so  many  had  of  seizing  a  button  on 
a  listener's  coat  and  twisting  it  off  in  the  course 
of  arg-ument.  This  habit,  however,  was  more 
common  in  the  city  than  in  the  West-end  coffee- 
houses; indeed,  Steele  added,  the  company  at 
Will's  was  so  refined  that  one  might  argue  and 
be  argued  with  and  not  be  a  button  the  poorer. 
All  that  delightful  nonsense  paved  the  way  for 
a  letter  in  the  next  number  of  the  Guardian,  a 
letter  purporting  to  come  from  Daniel  Button 
of  Button's  coifee-house. 

^'  I  have  observed,"  so  ran  the  epistle, 
*^  that  this  day  you  made  mention  of  Will's 
Coffee-house,  as  a  place  where  people  are  too 
polite  to  hold  a  man  in  discourse  by  the  button. 
Everybody  knows  your  honour  frequents  this 
house;   therefore  they  will  taken  an  advantage 


SIR    UICHAIID    STEELE. 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        217 


against  me,  and  say,  if  my  company  was  as 
civil  as  that  at  Will's,  you  would  say  so :  there- 
fore pray  your  honour  do  not  be  afraid  of 
doing  me  justice,  because  people  would  think 
it  may  be  a  conceit  below  you  on  this  occasion 
to  name  the  name  of  Your  humble  servant, 
Daniel  Button.''  And  then  there  is  this  naive 
postscript:  ''  The  young  poets  are  in  the  back 
room,  and  take  their  places  as  you  directed." 

Nor  did  that  end  the  plot.  A  few  days  later 
Steele  found  another  occasion  to  mention  But- 
ton's. His  plan  this  time  was  to  concoct  a  let- 
ter from  one  Hercules  Crabtree,  who  offered 
his  services  as  lion-catcher  to  the  Guardian, 
and  incidentally  mentioned  that  he  already  pos- 
sessed a  few  trophies  which  he  wished  to  pre- 
sent to  Button's  coffee-house.  This  lion  busi- 
ness paved  the  way  for  Addison's  interference 
in  the  clever  scheme  to  divert  the  wits  from 
Will's.  Hence  that  paper  of  the  Guardian 
which  he  wound  up  by  announcing  that  it  was 
his  intention  to  erect,  as  a  letter-box  for  the 
receipt  of  contributions,  a  lion's  head  in  imita- 
tion of  those  he  had  described  in  Venice, 
through  which  all  the  private  intelligence  of 
that  commonwealth  was  said  to  pass. 

''  This  head,"  he  explained,  ''is  to  open  a 
most  wide  and  voracious  mouth,  which  shall 


218   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

take  in  such  letters  and  papers  as  are  conveyed 
to  me  by  my  correspondents,  it  being  my  reso- 
lution to  have  a  particular  regard  to  all  such 
matters  as  come  to  my  hands  through  the 
mouth  of  the  lion.  There  will  be  under  it  a 
box,  of  which  the  key  will  be  kept  in  my  own 
custody,  to  receive  such  papers  as  are  dropped 
into  it.  Whatever  the  lion  swallows  I  shall 
digest  for  the  use  of  the  public.  This  head 
requires  some  time  to  finish,  the  workman  be- 
ing resolved  to  give  it  several  masterly  touches, 
and  to  represent  it  as  ravenous  as  possible. 
It  will  be  set  up  in  Button's  coffee-house  in 
Covent-garden,  who  is  directed  to  shew  the  way 
to  the  lion's  head,  and  to  instruct  young  au- 
thors how  to  convey  his  works  into  the  mouth 
of  it  with  safety  and  secrecy.'' 

That  lion's  head  was  no  myth.  A  fortnight 
later  the  leonine  letter-box  was  actually  placed 
in  position  at  Button's,  and,  after  doing  serv- 
ice there  for  some  years,  was  used  by  Dr.  Hill 
when  editing  the  Inspector.  It  was  sold  in 
1804,  the  notice  of  the  sale  in  the  Annual  Reg- 
ister stating  that  ''  The  admirable  gilt  lion's 
head  letter-box,  which  was  formerly  at  But- 
ton's coffee-house,  and  in  which  the  valuable 
original  copy  of  the  Guardian  was  received, 
was  yesterday  knocked  down   at   the   Shake- 


*       ■> 

1  1       5  '       5       1         ,         , 


"I    ,    1     >      1  ) 


iMO 


biccrvuihuf.  u?iai/i6S 

ll  Nibi  Dc/cctci  Farcltu 


?' 


lion's  head  at  button's  coffee-house. 


;  ',< 


*      *    I.  r  t     c         r 


strand  and  Co  vent  Garden        219 


speare-tavern,  Covent-garden,  to  Mr.  Richard- 
son, for  seventeen  pounds  ten  shillings."  It 
changed  hands  again  in  more  recent  times,  and 
is  now  the  property  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford, 
who  preserves  it  at  Woburn. 

For  some  months  after  the  installation  of  the 
lion's  head  at  Button's,  constant  references  are 
made  in  the  Guardian  to  that  unique  letter-box, 
Addison  being  mainly  responsible  for  the 
quaint  conceits  which  helped  to  keep  attention 
on  the  house  where  it  was  placed.  In  the  final 
number  of  the  Guardian  there  is  a  lively  letter 
in  response  to  an  attack  on  masquerading 
which  had  reached  the  public  via  the  lion's 
head.  '^  My  present  business,"  the  epistle  ran, 
"  is  with  the  lion;  and  since  this  savage  has 
behaved  himself  so  rudely,  I  do  by  these  pres- 
ents challenge  him  to  meet  me  at  the  next  mas- 
querade, and  desire  you  will  give  orders  to  Mr. 
Button  to  bring  him  thither,  in  all  his  terrors, 
where,  in  defence  of  the  innocence  of  these  mid- 
night amusements,  I  intend  to  appear  against 
him,  in  the  habit  of  Signior  Nicolimi,  to  try  the 
merits  of  this  cause  by  single  combat." 

But  Addison  and  his  lion's  head  and  Steele 
were  not  the  only  notable  figures  to  be  seen  at 
Button's.  Pope  was  a  constant  visitor  there, 
as  he  was  reminded  by  Gibber  in  his  famous 


220   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

letter.  Those  were  the  days  when,  in  Gibber's 
phrase,  the  author  of  the  ''  Dunciad  "  was  re- 
markable for  his  satirical  itch  of  provocation, 
when  there  were  few  upon  whom  he  did  not  fall 
in  some  biting  epigram.  He  so  fell  upon  Am- 
brose Philips,  who  forthwith  hung  a  rod  up  in 
Button's,  and  let  Pope  know  that  he  would  use 
it  on  him  should  he  ever  catch  him  under  that 
roof.  The  poet  took  a  more  than  ample  re- 
venge in  many  a  stinging  line  of  satire  after- 
wards. 

Pope  was  cut  adrift  from  Button's  through 
the  controversy  as  to  which  was  the  better  ver- 
sion of  the  Iliad,  his  or  Tickell's.  As  the  lat- 
ter belonged  to  the  Addisonian  circle,  the  opin- 
ion at  Button's  turned  in  favour  of  his  version, 
especially  as  Addison  himself  thought  Tickell 
had  more^  of  Homer  than  Pope.  This  ended 
Pope's  patronage  of  Button's,  and,  indeed,  it 
was  not  long  ere  the  glory  it  had  known  began 
to  wane.  Various  causes  combined  to  take 
away  one  and  another  of  its  leading  spirits,  and 
when  the  much-talked-of  Daniel  Button  passed 
away  in  1730  it  was  to  a  pauper's  grave.  Yet 
farewell  of  so  famous  a  house  should  not  be 
made  with  so  melancholy  a  story  There  is  a 
brighter  page  in  its  history,  which  dates  three 
years  earlier.    Aaron  Hill  had  been  so  moved 


strand  and  Covent  Garden        221 

by  the  misfortunes  of  his  brother  poet,  Richard 
Savage,  that  he  had  penned  an  appeal  on  his 
behalf  and  arranged  for  subscriptions  for  a 
volume  of  his  poems.  The  subscriptions  were 
to  be  left  at  Button's,  and  when  Savage  called 
there  a  few  days  later  he  found  a  sum  of  sev- 
enty guineas  awaiting  him.  Hill  may,  as  has 
been  asserted,  have  been  a  bore  of  the  first 
water,  but  that  kindly  deed  may  stand  him  in 
stead  of  genius. 


CHAPTER   IV 

FURTHER    WEST 

Several  favourite  coffee-houses  might  once 
have  been  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Char- 
ing Cross.  One  of  these  bore  the  name  of  the 
Cannon  and  was  much  frequented  by  John  Phil- 
pot  Curran,  of  whom  it  was  said  ^^  there  never 
was  so  honest  an  Irishman/^  and  Sir  Jonas 
Barrington,  that  other  Irish  judge  who  was  at 
first  intended  for  the  army,  but  who,  on  learn- 
ing that  the  regiment  to  which  he  might  be 
appointed  was  likely  to  be  sent  to  America  for 
active  service,  declined  the  conmiission,  and 
requested  that  it  might  be  bestowed  on  '  ^  some 
hardier  soldier.''  Evidently  Sir  Jonas  desired 
no  further  acquaintance  with  cannon  than  was 
involved  in  visiting  the  coffee-house  of  that 
name.  The  legend  is  that  he  and  Curran  af- 
fected one  particular  box  at  the  end  of  the 
room,  where  they  might  be  seen  almost  any  day. 

In  the  same  vicinitv,  but  close  to  the  Thames- 
side,  was  the  coffee-house  kept  by  Alexander 
Man,  and  known  as  Man's.    The  proprietor  had 

222 


c<rf         '<       f         ' 


W*>Ji»«S5^«S! 


UKITLSH    COFKEE-HOUSE. 


Further  West 223 

the  distinction  of  being  appointed  ' '  coffee,  tea, 
and  chocolate-maker  "  to  William  III,  which 
gave  him  a  place  in  the  vast  army  of  ^*  By  Ap- 
pointment "  tradesmen,  and  resulted  further  in 
his  establishment  being  sometimes  described  as 
the  Royal  Coffee-house.  This  resort  had  a  third 
title,  Old  Man's  Coffee-house,  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  Young  Man's,  which  was  situated  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street. 

Of  greater  note  than  any  of  these  was  the 
British  coffee-house  which  stood  in  Cockspur 
Street.  There  is  a  record  of  its  existence  in 
1722,  and  in  1759  it  was  presided  over  by  the 
sister  of  Bishop  Douglas,  who  was  described 
as  '^  a  person  of  excellent  manners  and  abili- 
ties.'' She  was  succeeded  by  a  Mrs.  Anderson, 
on  whom  the  encomium  was  passed  that  she 
was  "  a  woman  of  uncommon  talents  and  the 
most  agreeable  conversation."  As  the  names 
of  these  ladies  suggest,  they  were  of  Scottish 
birth,  and  hence  it  is  not  surprising  to  learn 
that  their  house  was  greatly  in  favour  among 
visitors  from  north  of  the  Tweed.  That  the 
Scottish  peers  were  sometimes  to  be  found  here 
in  great  numbers  is  the  only  conclusion  to  be 
drawn  from  an  incident  recorded  by  Horace 
Walpole.  There  was  a  motion  before  the 
House  of  Lords  for  which  the  support  of  the 


224    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


Scots  was  required,  and  the  Duke  of  Bedford 
wrote  to  sixteen  of  their  number  to  solicit  their 
votes,  enclosing  all  the  letters  under  one  cover 
directed  to  the  British  coffee-house.  It  was 
under  this  roof,  too,  that  the  Scottish  club 
called  The  Beeswing  used  to  meet,  one  of  whose 
members  was  Lord  Campbell,  that  legal  biog- 
rapher who  shared  with  most  of  his  country- 
men the  ability  of  ''  getting  on."  The  club  in 
question  consisted  of  about  ten  members,  and 
the  agreement  was  to  meet  once  a  month  at  the 
British  coffee-house  to  dine  and  drink  port 
wine.  The  other  members  included  Spankie, 
Dr.  Haslam,  author  of  several  works  on  insan- 
ity, Andrew  Grant,  a  merchant  of  considerable 
literary  acquirements,  and  George  Gordon, 
known  about  town  as  ^^  the  man  of  wit.''  The 
conversation  is  described  as  being  as  good  as 
any  to  be  enjoyed  anywhere  in  the  London  of 
that  day,  and  the  drinking  was  voted  ^^  tre- 
mendous.'' The  last-named  fact  is  one  illus- 
tration out  of  many  that  during  the  latter  years 
of  their  existence  the  coffee-houses  of  London 
did  not  by  any  means  confine  their  liquors  to 
the  harmless  beverage  from  which  they  took 
their  name. 

Among  the  earliest  coffee-houses  to  be  estab- 
lished in  the  West-end  of  London  was  that 


•    •     ' 


e  •      t       •       «  c 


rf  '    ■      <t 


t~3ri,s^ 


o 
a 

w 
w 
u 

o 
o 

"OS 
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K 
O 

•-] 


Further  West  225 


opened  by  Thomas  Slaughter  in  St.  Martin's 
Lane  in  1692  and  known  as  Slaughter's.  It 
remained  under  the  oversight  of  Mr.  Slaughter 
until  his  death  in  1740,  and  continued  to  enjoy 
a  prosperous  career  for  nearly  a  century 
longer,  when  the  house  was  torn  down.  The 
bulk  of  its  customers  were  artists,  and  the 
famous  men  numbered  among  them  included 
Wilkie,  Wilson,  and  Roubiliac.  But  the  most 
pathetic  figure  associated  with  its  history  is 
that  of  Abraham  De  Moivre,  that  French 
mathematician  who  became  the  friend  of  New- 
ton and  Leibnitz.  Notwithstanding  his  wonder- 
ful abilities  he  was  driven  to  support  himself 
by  the  meagre  pittances  earned  by  teaching 
and  by  solving  problems  in  chess  at  Slaugh- 
ter's. In  his  last  days  sight  and  hearing  both 
failed,  and  he  finally  died  of  somnolence, 
twenty  hours'  sleep  becoming  habitual  with 
him.  By  the  time  of  De  Moivre 's  death,  or 
shortly  after,  the  character  of  the  frequenters 
of  Slaughter's  underwent  a  change,  for  when 
Goldsmith  alluded  to  the  house  in  1758  it  was 
to  make  the  remark  that  if  a  man  were  passion- 
ate ^ '  he  may  vent  his  rage  among  the  old  ora- 
tors at  Slaughter's  Ooifee-house,  and  damn  the 
nation,  because  it  keeps  him  from  starving." 
Politics  and  literature  were  the  topics  most 


226   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

under  discussion  at  the  Smyrna  coffee-house 
which  had  its  location  on  the  north  side  of  Pall 
Mall.  It  makes  its  appearance  in  an  early  num- 
ber of  the  Tatler,  where  reference  is  made  to 
**  that  cluster  of  wise  heads  ''  that  might  be 
found  ''  sitting  every  evening  from  the  left 
hand  side  of  the  fire,  at  the  Smyrna,  to  the 
door/*  Five  months  later  Steele  entered  into 
fuller  particulars. 

^'  This  is  to  give  notice,"  he  wrote,  '*  to  all 
ingenious  gentlemen  in  and  about  the  cities  of 
London  and  Westminster,  who  have  a  mind  to 
be  instructed  in  the  noble  sciences  of  music, 
poetry,  and  politics,  that  they  repair  to  the 
Smyrna  coffee-house  in  Pall-mall,  betwixt  the 
hours  of  eight  and  ten  at  night,  where  they 
may  be  instructed  gratis,  with  elaborate  es- 
says, by  wo'rd  of  mouth  on  all  or  any  of  the 
above-mentioned  arts.  The  disciples  are  to 
prepare  their  bodies  with  three  dishes  of  bo- 
hea,  and  purge  their  brains  with  two  pinches 
of  snuff.  If  any  young  student  gives  indication 
of  parts,  by  listening  attentively,  or  asking  a 
pertinent  question,  one  of  the  professors  shall 
distinguish  him,  by  taking  snuff  out  of  his  box 
in  the  presence  of  the  whole  audience."  And 
the  further  direction  is  given  that  **  the  seat 
of  learning  is  now  removed  from  the  corner  of 


Further  West  227 


the  diimney  on  the  left  towards  the  window, 
to  the  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
over  against  the  fire;  a  revolution  much  la- 
mented by  the  porters  and  chairmen,  who  were 
much  edified  through  a  pane  of  glass  that  re- 
mained broken  all  last  suiomer.'' 

That  Steele  and  Addison  knew  their  Smyrna 
well  may  be  inferred  from  their  familiar  refer- 
ences to  the  house,  and  there  are  equal  proofs 
that   Swift  and  Prior  were   often  within  its 
doors.     The  Journal  to  Stella  has  many  ref- 
erences to  visits  from  the  poet  and  the  satirist, 
such  as,  ''  The  evening  was  fair,  and  I  walked 
a  little  in  the  Park  till  Prior  made  me  go  with 
him  to  the  Smyrna  Cofeee-house,  where  I  sat 
a  while,  and  saw  four  or  five  Irish  persons,  who 
are  very  handsome,  genteel  fellows,  but  I  know 
not  their  names."    From  Prior ^s  pen  there  is 
an  allusion  to  be  found  in  the  manuscripts  of 
the  Marquis  of  Bath  in  a  letter  the  poet  ad- 
dressed to  Lord  Harley  from  London  in  the 
winter  of  1719.    Prior  was  lying  low  on  that 
visit  to  town,  for  the  main  purpose  of  his  pres- 
ence was  medicinal.    ' '  I  have  only  seen  Brown, 
the  surgeon,''  he  writes,  ''  to  whom  I  have 
made  an  auricular  confession,  and  from  him 
have  received  extreme  unction,  and  applied  it, 
which  may  soften  the  obduracy  of  my  ear,  and 


228   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


make  it  capable  of  receiving  the  impression  of 
ten  thousand  lies  which  will  be  poured  into  it 
as  soon  as  I  shall  take  my  seat  at  the  Smyrna.'* 

Two  other  figures  not  unknown  to  fame 
haunt  the  shades  of  the  Smyrna,  Beau  Nash 
and  Thomson  of  the  ''  Seasons."  It  is  Gold- 
smith who  tells  of  the  first  that  he  used  to  idle 
for  a  day  at  a  time  in  the  window  of  the  Smyrna 
to  receive  a  bow  from  the  Prince  of  Wales  or 
the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  as  they  drove  by; 
and  of  the  second  is  it  not  on  record  that  he 
in  person  took  subscriptions  at  the  Smyrna  for 
the  '^  Four  Seasons!  " 

In  the  Cocoa-Tree  Club  of  to-day  may  be 
found  the  direct  representative  of  the  most 
famous  Tory  chocolate-house  of  the  reign  of 
Queen  Anne.  It  had  its  headquarters  first  in 
Pall  Mall,  but  removed  not  long  after  to  St. 
James's  Street,  the  Mecca  of  clubland  at  the 
present  time.  Perhaps  the  best  picture  of  the 
house  and  its  ways  is  that  given  by  Gibbon,  who 
in  his  journal  for  November  24th,  1762,  wrote : 

**  I  dined  at  the  Cocoa-Tree  with  ,  who, 

under  a  great  appearance  of  oddity,  conceals 
more  real  humour,  good  sense,  and  even  knowl- 
edge, than  half  those  who  laugh  at  him.  We 
went  thence  to  the  play,  the  '  Spanish  Friar,' 
and  when  it  was  over,  retired  to  the  Cocoa- 


Further  West  229 


Tree.  That  respectable  body,  of  which  I  have 
the  honour  of  being  a  member,  affords  every 
evening  a  sight  truly  English;  twenty,  or  per- 
haps thirty,  of  the  first  men  in  the  kingdom  in 
point  of  fashion  and  fortune,  supping  at  little 
tables  covered  with  a  napkin  in  the  middle  of 
a  coffee  room,  upon  a  bit  of  cold  meat  or  a  sand- 
wich, and  drinking  a  glass  of  punch.  At  pres- 
ent we  are  full  of  King's  Councillors  and  Lords 
of  the  Bedchamber,  who,  having  jumped  into 
the  ministry,  make  a  very  singular  medley  of 
their  old  principles  and  language  with  their 
modern  one.''  It  is  easy  to  infer  from  Gib- 
bon's account,  what  was  a  fact,  that  by  his  time 
the  house  had  been  turned  into  a  club,  the  use 
of  which  was  restricted  to  members,  as  at  the 
present  time.  The  change  was  made  before 
1746,  when  the  Cocoa-Tree  was  the  rendezvous 
of  the  Jacobites.  One  of  the  most  curious  fea- 
tures of  the  present  premises  is  a  carved  palm- 
tree  which  is  thrust  up  through  the  centre  of 
the  front  rooms  on  the  first  and  second  floors. 
What  its  age  is  no  one  knows,  nor  who  was 
responsible  for  the  freak  of  botanical  knowl- 
edge implied  by  utilizing  a  palm-tree  as  sym- 
bolical of  cocoa. 

Soon  after  the  transformation  of  the  house 
into  a  club  it  became  notorious  for  the  high 


230    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

play  which  went  on  under  the  shadow  of  the 
palm-tree.  Walpole,  for  example,  tells  the  story 
of  a  gamble  between  an  Irish  gamester  named 
O'Birne  and  a  young  midshipman  named  Har- 
vey who  had  just  fallen  heir  to  a  large  estate 
by  his  brother's  death.  The  stake  was  for  one 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  and  when  O'Birne 
won  he  said,  '^  You  can  never  pay  me.''  But 
the  youth  replied,  '^  I  can,  my  estate  will  sell 
for  the  debt.''  O'Birne,  however,  had  some 
scruples  left,  so  said  he  would  be  content  with 
ten  thousand  pounds,  and  suggested  another 
throw  for  the  balance.  This  time  Harvey  won, 
and  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  that  the 
lesson  had  not  been  lost.  But  Walpole  does 
not  throw  any  light  on  that  matter. 

Another  lively  scene  took  place  under  the 
palm-tree  of  the  Cocoa-Tree  late  in  the  eight- 
eenth century.  The  principal  figure  on  that 
occasion  was  Henry  Bate,  that  militant  editor 
of  the  Morning  Post  whose  duel  at  the  Adelphi 
has  already  been  recorded.  It  seems  that  Mr. 
Bate,  who,  by  the  way,  held  holy  orders,  and 
eventually  became  a  baronet  under  the  name  of 
Dudley,  was  at  Vauxhall  one  evening  with  a 
party  of  ladies,  when  Fighting  Fitzgerald  and 
several  companions  met  them  and  indulged  in 
insults.     An  exchange  of  cards  followed,  and 


Further  West  231 


a  meeting  was  arranged  for  the  following  morn- 
ing at  tlie  Cocoa-Tree  to  settle  details  of  the  in- 
evitable duel.     Fitzgerald,  however,  was  late, 
and  by  the  time  he  arrived  apologies  had  been 
tendered  and  accepted  by  Mr.  Bate.     When 
Fitzgerald  arrived  on  the  scene  with  a  Captain 
Miles  he  insisted  on  a  boxing-match  with  the 
supposed  captain,  who,  he  affirmed,  had  been 
among  the  assailants   of  the  previous  night. 
Mr.  Bate  objected,  inasmuch  as  he  did  not  rec- 
ognize Mr.  Miles,  and  moreover  scouted  the 
indignity  of  settling  such  a  matter  with  fists. 
He  was  willing  to  decide  the  dispute  with  sword 
or  pistol.    Fitzgerald,  however,  roused  Bate's 
ire  by  dubbing  him  a  coward.    After  that  it  did 
not  take  many  minutes  to  form  a  ring  under  the 
shade  of  the  palm-tree,  and  in  less  than  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  the  ' '  coward  ' '  had  pulverized 
Captain   Miles   in   an   eminently    satisfactory 
manner. 

Earlier  and  more  sedate  references  to  the 
Cocoa-Tree  are  in  existence.  There  is,  for  ex- 
ample, a  letter  from  General  William  Stewart, 
of  October  27th,  1716,  addressed  to  the  father 
of  William  Pitt,  placing  this  incident  on  rec- 
ord: ''  The  other  night,  at  the  Cocoa-Tree,  I 
saw  Colonel  Pitt  and  your  brother-in-law 
Chomeley.    The  former  made  me  a  grave  bow 


232   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


without  speaking,  which  example  I  followed. 
I  suppose  he  is  directed  to  take  no  notice  of 
me."  Nor  should  the  lively  episode  placed  to 
the  credit  of  a  spark  of  the  town  in  1726  be 
overlooked.  ''  The  last  masquerade,"  says  a 
letter  of  that  period,  ' '  was  fruitful  of  quarrels. 
Young  Webb  had  quarrelled  at  the  Cocoa-Tree 
with  Oglethorp,  and  struck  him  with  his  cane; 
they  say  the  quarrel  was  made  up."  But 
**  Young  Webb  "  was  evidently  spoiling  that 
night  for  more  adventures,  for  while  still  in 
his  cups  he  went  to  the  masquerade  and,  meet- 
ing a  German  who  had  a  mask  with  a  great 
nose,  he  asked  him  what  he  did  with  such  an 
ornament,  pulled  it  off  and  slapped  his  face. 
*'  He  was  carried  out  by  six  grenadiers,"  is 
the  terse  climax  of  the  story. 

Florio  was,  of  course,  a  frequenter  of  the 
Cocoa-Tree.  And  that  his  manners  there  as 
elsewhere  must  have  been  familiar  is  illus- 
trated by  the  fact  that  one  of  the  waiters  ad- 
dressed an  epistle  to  him  in  the  following 
terms:  '^  Sam,  the  waiter  at  the  Cocoa-Tree, 
presents  his  compliaments  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales."  The  rebuke  was  characteristic: 
' '  You  see,  Sam,  this  may  be  very  well  between 
you  and  me,  but  it  would  never  do  with  the 
Norfolks  and  Arundels!  " 


Further  West  233 


Of  course  the  house  has  its  George  Selwyn 
story.  An  American  captain  began  it  by  as- 
serting that  in  his  country  hot  and  cold  springs 
were  often  found  side  by  side,  which  was  con- 
venient, for  fish  could  be  caught  in  the  one  and 
boiled  in  the  other  in  a  few  minutes.  The  story 
was  received  as  belonging  to  the  ' '  tall ' '  order, 
until  Selwyn  gravely  accepted  it  as  true,  be- 
cause at  Auvergne  he  had  met  a  similar  expe- 
rience, with  the  addition  that  there  was  a  third 
spring  which  supplied  parsley  and  butter  for 

the  sauce. 

(  Just  as  the  Tories  were  faithful  to  the  Co- 
coa-Tree, so  the  Whigs  were  stout  in  their  loy-^ 
alty  to  the  St.   James's  coffee-house  nearby. 
This  was  the  resort  named  by  Steele  as  the 
origin  of  the  political  news  served  up  in  the 
Tatler,  and  it  was  favoured  with  many  refer- 
ences in  the  Spectator  of  Addison.    The  latter 
gives  an  amusing  account  of  a  general  shift- 
round  of  the  servants  of  the  house  owing  to  the 
resignation  of  one  of  their  number,  and  in  a 
later  paper,  devoted  to  coffee-house  specula- 
tions on  the  death  of  the  King  of  France,  he 
gives  the  place  of  honour  to  the  Whig  resort 
as   providing   the   most   reliable   information. 
''  That  I  might  be  as  near  the  fountain-head  as 
possible,  I  first  of  all  called  at  St.  James's, 


234   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


where  I  found  tlie  whole  outward  room  in  a 
buzz  of  politics.  The  speculations  were  but  very- 
indifferent  towards  the  door,  but  grew  finer  as 
you  advanced  to  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and 
were  so  very  much  imj^roved  by  a  knot  of  theo- 
rists, who  sat  in  the  inner  room,  within  the 
steams  of  the  coffee-pot,  that  I  there  heard  the 
whole  Spanish  monarchy  disposed  of,  and  all 
the  line  of  Bourbon  provided  for  in  less  than 
a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Politics,  however,  did  not  claim  all  the  inter- 
est of  the  frequenters  of  the  St.  James's.  Ver- 
dicts were  passed  upon  the  literary  products  of 
the  day  in  much  the  same  manner  as  at  But- 
ton's, and  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  Grold- 
smith's  '^  Retaliation  "  had  its  origin  at  a 
meeting  at  this  house. 

To  judge  from  their  present-day  dignified 
appearance,  no  one  would  imagine  that  the 
Old  Palace  and  the  New  Palace  Yards  at  West- 
minster ever  tolerated  such  mundane  things  as 
coffee-houses  and  taverns  within  their  pre- 
cincts. The  evidence  of  history,  however, 
shows  that  at  one  time  there  were  nmnerous 
establishments  of  both  kinds  situated  under  the 
shadow  of  Westminster  Hall  and  the  Abbey.  A 
drawing  not  more  than  a  century  old  shows 
several  such  buildings,  and  the  records  of  the 


Q 


Further  West  235 


city  enumerate  public  houses  of  the  sign  of  the 
Coach  and  Horses,  and  the  Royal  Oak,  and  the 
White  Rose  as  being  situated  in  the  Old  Palace 
Yard,  while  the  coffee-houses  there  included 
Waghorne's  and  Oliver's.    Nor  was  it  different 
with  New  Palace  Yard.    In  the  latter  were  to 
be  found  Miles 's  coffee-house  and  the  Turk's 
Head,  both  associated  with  James  Harrington, 
that  early  republican  whose   ''Oceana''   got 
him  into  so  much  trouble.     One  story  credits 
Cromwell  with  having  seized  the  manuscript 
of  that  work,  and  with  its  restoration  having 
been  effected  by  Elizabeth  Claypole,  the  fa- 
vourite daughter  of  the  Protector,  whom  Har- 
rington is  said  to  have  playfully  threatened 
with  the  theft  of  her  child  if  her  father  did  not 
restore  his.    The  author  of  ''  Oceana  "  seems 
to  have   thought  the   occasion  of  Cromwell's 
death  a  favourable  one  for  the  discussion  of 
his  political  theories,  and  hence  the  Rota  club 
he  founded,  which  used  to  meet  at  Miles 's.    Au- 
brey gives  a  vivid  account  of  the  room  at  the 
coffee-house    where    the    club    met,    with    its 
''  large  oval-table,  with  a  passage  in  the  middle 
for  Miles  to  deliver  his  coffee.    About  it  sat 
his  disciples  and  the  virtuosi.     Here  we  had 
(very  formally)  a  ballotting  box,  and  ballotted 
how  things  should  be  carried  by  way  of  Ten- 


236   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


tamens.  The  room  was  every  evening  full  as 
it  could  be  crammed/'  But  when  it  became 
obvious  that  the  Restoration  would  soon  be  an 
accomplished  fact  the  meetings  at  Miles 's  came 
to  a  sudden  end.  And  shortly  after,  Harring- 
ton was  committed  to  the  Tower  to  meditate 
upon  ideal  commonwealths  amid  less  congenial 
surroundings. 

Westminster  Hall  itself  had  a  coffee-house  at 
the  beginning  of  the  last  century.  It  was 
named  Alice's,  presumably  after  the  proprie- 
tor, and  was  on  one  occasion  the  scene  of  a  neat 
version  of  the  confidence  trick.  The  coffee- 
house was  used  almost  entirely  by  barristers 
engaged  in  the  different  courts  of  law  then 
held  in  Westminster  Hall,  and  they  availed 
themselves  of  the  house  for  robing  before  going 
to  the  courts^,  and  as  the  storeroom  of  their  wigs 
and  gowns  when  the  business  of  the  day  was 
ended.  Armed  with  this  knowledge,  a  needy 
individual  by  the  name  of  William  Lill  applied 
to  the  waiter  at  Alice's,  and  made  a  request  for 
a  Mr.  Clarke's  gown  and  wig,  saying  that  he 
had  been  sent  by  a  well-known  law^^ers'  wig- 
maker  and  dresser.  It  happened,  however,  that 
Mr.  Clarke's  clerk  had  a  little  before  fetched 
away  the  wig  and  gown  Mr.  Lill  was  so  anxious 
to  receive.    But  when  the  waiter  imparted  that 


Further  West  237 

information  he  did  not  lose  his  self-possession. 
He  also  wanted,  he  said,  Mr.  Ellison's  wig  and 
gown.    Taken  with  the  man's  knowledge  of  the 
barrister's  names,  the  waiter  not  only  handed 
over  the  wig  and  gown,  but  also  informed  the 
obliging  Mr.  Lill  that  when  Mr.  Ellison  was 
last  in  court  he  had  left  his  professional  coat 
and  waistcoat  at  the  coffee-house ;  perhaps  Mr. 
Lill  would  take  those  too?     Mr.  Lill  readily 
obliged,  and  disappeared.    Later  in  the  day  the 
waiter's  wits  began  to  work.    Being,  too,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  wig-maker's  shop,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  to  drop  in.    There  he  learnt  that 
no  Mr.   Lill  had  been  sent  for  any  wigs   or 
gowns.    The  alarmed  waiter  next  proceeded  to 
Mr.  Ellison's  office,  to  learn  there  that  no  mes- 
senger had  been  sent  to  Alice's.    At  this  stage 
the  waiter,  as  he  subsequently  confessed,  had 
no  doubt  but  that  Mr.  Lill  was  '^  an  impostor." 
Mr.  Lill  was  more.    He  was  courageous.    Hav- 
ing secured  his  prey  so  simply  on  the  one  day, 
he  came  back  on  another,  trusting,  no  doubt, 
that  his  waiter  friend  would  be  as  obliging  as 
before.    But  it  was  not  to  be ;   a  few  questions 
confirmed  the  waiter's  suspicions  that  Mr.  Lill 
really   was    ^'  an    impostor;  "    and    a    police- 
officer   finished   the   story.     One   feels   rather 
sorry  for  Mr.  Lill.     Of  course  it  was  wrong 


238   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


of  him  to  annex  those  wigs  and  gowns,  and  sell 
them  for  theatrical  ^'  properties,"  but  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  admire  the  pluck  of  a  man  who 
stole  from  a  lawyer  in  the  precincts  of  a  law- 
court.  Alice's  deserves  immortality  if  only 
for  having  been  the  scene  of  that  unique  ex- 
ploit. 

By  far  the  most  curious  of  the  coffee-houses 
of  old  London  was  that  known  as  Don  Saltero's 
at  Chelsea.  There  was  nothing  of  the  don 
really  about  the  proprietor,  whose  unadorned 
name  was  James  Salter.  The  prefix  and  the 
affix  were  bestowed  by  one  of  his  customers, 
Vice-Admiral  Munden,  who,  having  cruised 
much  upon  the  coast  of  Spain,  acquired  a  weak- 
ness for  Spanish  titles,  and  bestowed  a  variant 
of  one  on  the  Chelsea  coffee-house  keeper. 

That  same  Mr.  Salter  was  an  odd  character. 
Not  content  with  serving  dishes  of  coffee,  nor 
with  drawing  people's  teeth  and  cutting  their 
hair,  he  indulged  in  attempts  at  fiddle-playing 
and  set  up  a  museum  in  his  house. 

Steele's  description  of  a  visit  to  this  many- 
sided  resort  is  by  far  the  best  picture  of  its 
owner  and  its  contents.  ^^  When  I  came  into 
the  coffee-house,"  he  wrote,  ^'  I  had  not  time 
to  salute  the  company,  before  my  eye  was  di- 
verted by  ten  thousand  gimcracks  round  the 


DON    SALTERO'S    COFFEE-HOUSE. 


Further  West  239 


room,  and  on  the  ceiling.  When  my  first  as- 
tonishment was  over,  comes  to  me  a  sage  of 
thin  and  meagre  countenance;  which  aspect 
made  me  doubt,  whether  reading  or  fretting 
had  made  it  so  philosophic:  but  I  very  soon 
perceived  him  to  be  of  that  sect  which  the  an- 
cients call  Gingivistre;  in  our  language,  tooth- 
drawers.  I  immediately  had  a  respect  for  the 
man;  for  these  practical  philosophers  go  upon 
a  very  rational  h;\i)othesis,  not  to  cure,  but  to 
take  away  the  part  affected."  And  then  fol- 
lows that  delightful  dissertation  which  linked 
Mr.  Salter  in  the  line  of  succession  with  the 
barber  of  Don  Quixote.  But  Steele  could  not 
forgive  the  Chelsea  barber  and  coffee-house 
keeper  one  thing.  ^'  I  cannot  allow  the  liberty 
he  takes  of  imposing  several  names  (without 
my  license)  on  the  collections  he  has  made,  to 
the  abuse  of  the  good  people  of  England;  one 
of  which  is  particularly  calculated  to  deceive 
religious  persons,  to  the  great  scandal  of  the 
well-disposed,  and  may  introduce  heterodox 
opinions.  He  shews  you  a  straw  hat,  which  I 
know  to  be  made  by  Madge  Peskad,  within 
three  miles  of  Bedford;  and  tells  you,  ^  It  is 
Pontius  Pilate's  wife's  chambermaid's  sister's 
hat.'  To  my  knowledge  of  this  very  hat  it  may 
be  added,  that  the  covering  of  straw  was  never 


240   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


used  among  the  Jews,  since  it  was  demanded 
of  them  to  make  bricks  without  it. ' ' 

Don  Saltero  had  a  poetic  catalogue  of  his 
curiosities,  of  which  one  verse  ran: 


<c 


Monsters  of  all  sorts  here  are  seen, 

Strange  things  in  nature  as  they  grew  so; 

Some  relics  of  the  Sheba  Queen, 

And  fragments  of  the  famed  Bob  Crusoe." 


These  treasures,  however,  could  not  avert  the 
fate  which  was  due  to  befall  the  house  on  Jan- 
uary 8th,  1799,  when  the  lease  of  the  building 
and  all  within  were  disposed  of  by  public  sale. 
A  philosophic  journalist,  not  possessing  Steele's 
sense  of  humour,  gravely  remarked  of  the 
Don's  gimcracks  that  they,  with  kindred  collec- 
tions, helped  to  cherish  the  infancy  of  science, 
and  deserved  to  be  appreciated  as  the  play- 
things of  a  boy  after  he  is  arrived  at  maturity. 
Happily  the  Don  himself  did  not  survive  to  see 
his  precious  treasures  fetch  less  than  ten  shil- 
lings a-piece. 


ni 

THE    CLUBS    OF    OLD    LONDON 


241 


CHAPTER   I 

LITERARY 

Pending  the  advent  of  a  pMlosophical  his- 
torian who  will  explain  the  psychological  rea- 
son why  the  eighteenth  century  was  distin- 
STiished  above  all  others  in  the  matter  of  clubs, 
the  fact  is  to  be  noted  in  all  its  baldness  that 
the  majority  of  those  institutions  which  are 
famous  in  the  annals  of  old  London  had  their 
origin  during  that  hundred  years.  One  or  two 
were  of  earlier  date,  but  those  which  made  a 
noise  in  the  world  and  which  for  the  most  part 
survive  to  the  present  time  were  founded  at 
the  opening  of  the  eighteenth  century  or  later 
in  its  course. 

Although  the  exact  date  of  the  establishment 
of  the  Kit-Cat  club  has  never  been  decided,  the 
consensus  of  opinion  fixes  the  year  somewhere 
about  1700.  More  debatable,  however,  is  the 
question  of  its  peculiar  title.  The  most  recent 
efforts  to  solve  that  riddle  leave  it  where  the 
contemporary  epigram  left  it : 

243 


244   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


(( 


Whence  deathless  Kit-Cat  took  his  name. 

Few  critics  can  unriddle; 
Some  say  from  pastry-cook  it  came. 

And  some  from  Cat  and  Fiddle. 
From  no  trim  beaus  its  name  it  boasts, 

Gray  statesmen  or  green  wits; 
But  from  this  pell-mell  pack  of  toasts 

Of  old  Cats  and  young  Kits." 


Equally  undecided  is  the  cause  of  its  origin. 
Ned  Ward,  however,  had  no  doubts  on  that 
score.  That  exceedingly  frank  and  coarse  his- 
torian of  the  clubs  of  London  attributed  the 
origin  of  the  club  to  the  astuteness  of  Jacob 
Tonson  the  publisher.  That  '^  amphibious 
mortal,"  according  to  Ward,  having  a  sharp 
eye  to  his  own  interests,  '^  wriggled  himself 
into  the  company  of  a  parcel  of  poetical  young 
sprigs,  who^  had  just  weaned  themselves  of  their 
mother  university"  and,  having  more  wit  than 
experience,  '^  put  but  a  slender  value,  as  yet, 
upon  their  maiden  performances."  Faced 
with  this  golden  opportunity  to  attach  a  com- 
pany of  authors  to  his  establishment,  the  alert 
Tonson  baited  his  trap  with  mutton  pies.  In 
other  words,  according  to  Ward,  he  invited  the 
poetical  young  sprigs  to  a  ''  collation  of  oven- 
trumpery  "  at  the  establishment  of  one  named 
Christopher,  for  brevity  called  Kit,  who  was 


Literary  245 

an  expert  in  pastry  delicacies.  The  ruse  suc- 
ceeded; the  poetical  young  sprigs  came  in  a 
band;  they  enjoyed  their  pies;  and  when  Ton- 
son  proposed  a  weekly  meeting  of  a  similar 
kind,  on  the  understanding  that  the  poetical 
young  sprigs  ' '  would  do  him  the  honour  to  let 
him  have  the  refusal  of  all  their  juvenile  prod- 
ucts," there  was  no  dissentient  voice.  And 
thus  the  Kit-Cat  club  came  into  life. 

Some  grains  of  truth  may  be  embedded  in 
this  fanciful  narrative.  Perhaps  the  inception 
of  the  club  may  have  been  due  to  Tonson's  as- 
tuteness from  a  business  point  of  view ;  but  at 
an  early  stage  of  the  history  of  the  club  it  be- 
came a  more  formidable  institution.  Its  mem- 
bership quickly  comprised  nearly  fifty  nobles 
and  gentlemen  and  authors,  all  of  whom  found 
a  bond  of  interest  in  their  profession  of  Wliig 
principles  and  devotion  to  the  House  of  Han- 
over, shortly  to  be  established  on  the  throne 
of  England  in  the  person  of  George  I.  Indeed, 
one  poetical  epigram  on  the  institution  specific- 
ally entitles  it  the  ''  Hanover  Club." 

It  seems  that  the  earliest  meetings  of  the 
club  were  held  at  an  obscure  tavern  in  Shire 
Lane,  which  no  longer  exists,  but  ran  parallel 
with  Chancery  Lane  near  Temple-bar.  This 
was  the  tavern  kept  by  Christopher  Cat,  and 


246   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

when  he  removed  to  the  Fountain  tavern  in 
the  Strand  the  club  accompanied.  Its  principle 
place  of  meeting,  however,  was  at  the  mansion 
of  Tonson  at  Barn  Elms,  where  a  room  was 
specially  built  for  its  accommodation.  The 
dimensions  of  this  room  were  responsible  for 
the  application  of  the  term  Kit-Cat  to  portraits 
of  a  definite  size.  Thus,  on  the  suggestion  of 
Tonson  the  portraits  of  the  members  were 
painted  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  for  the  book- 
seller, but  as  the  walls  of  the  room  at  Barn 
Elms  were  not  lofty  enough  to  accommodate 
full-lengths,  the  painter  reverted  to  a  canvas 
measuring  thirty-six  by  twenty-eight  inches,  a 
size  of  portrait  which  preserves  the  name  of 
Kit-Cat  to  this  day. 

Apart  from  its  influence  on  the  nomenclature 
of  art,  the  club  is  memorable  for  the  additions 
it  caused  to  be  made  to  the  poetic  literature  of 
England.  One  of  the  customs  of  the  club  was 
to  toast  the  reigning  beauties  of  the  day  reg- 
ularly after  dinner,  and  the  various  poets 
among  its  members  were  called  upon  to  cast 
those  toasts  in  the  form  of  verse,  which  were 
afterwards  engraved  on  the  toasting-glasses  of 
the  club.  Addison  was  responsible  for  one  of 
those  tributes,  his  theme  being  the  Lady  INIan- 
chester : 


(C 


Literary  247 

While  haughty  Gallia's  dames,  that  spread 
O'er  their  pale  cheeks  an  artful  red. 
Beheld  this  beauteous  stranger  there. 
In  native  charms  divinely  fair ; 
Confusion  in  their  looks  they  showed; 
And  with  unborrowed  blushes  glowed." 


But  the  Earl  of  Halifax  and  Sir  Samuel  Garth 
were  tlie  most  prolific  contributors  to  Kit-Cat 
literature,  the  former  being  responsible  for  six 
and  the  latter  for  seven  poetical  toasts.  For 
the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans,  Halifax  wrote  this 
tribute: 

"  The  line  of  Vere,  so  long  renown'd  in  arms, 
Concludes  with  lustre  in  St.  Albans  charms. 
Her  conquering  eyes  have  made  their  race  complete; 
They  rose  in  valour,  and  in  beauty  set.'' 

To  the  Duchess  of  Beaufort  these  lines  were 
addressed : 

"  Offspring  of  a  tuneful  sire. 
Blest  with  more  than  mortal  fire; 
Likeness  of  a  mother's  face. 
Blest  with  more  than  mortal  grace ; 
You  with  double  charms  surprise. 
With  his  wit,  and  with  her  eyes. 


fy 


Next  came  the  turn  of  Lady  Mary  Churchill 


248   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

"  Fairest  and  latest  of  the  beauteous  race. 

Blest  with  your  parent's  wit,  and  her  first  blooming 

face; 
Born  with  our  liberties  in  William's  reign. 
Your  eyes  alone  that  liberty  restrain." 

Other  ladies  celebrated  by  Halifax  included  the 
Duchess  of  Richmond,  Lady  Sutherland,  and 
Mademoiselle  Spanbeime.  To  Garth  fell  the 
task  of  singing  the  attractions  of  Lady  Carlisle, 
Lady  Essex,  Lady  Hyde,  and  Lady  Wharton, 
the  first  three  have  two  toasts  each.  Perhaps 
the  most  successful  of  his  efforts  was  the  toast 
to  Lady  Hyde. 


"  The  god  of  wine  grows  jealous  of  his  art. 
He  only  fires  the  head,  but  Hyde  the  heart. 
The  queen  of  love  looks  on,  and  smiles  to  see 
A  nymph  more  mighty  than  a  deity." 

Whether  the  businesslike  Tonson  derived 
much  profit  from  his  contract  with  the  poetical 
young  sprigs  does  not  transpire;  it  is  of  mo- 
ment, however,  to  recall  that  the  members  of 
the  club  did  something  to  encourage  literature. 
They  raised  a  sum  of  four  hundred  guineas  to 
be  offered  as  prizes  for  the  best  comedies.  It 
may  be  surmised  that  Thomas  D'Urfey  stood 
no  chance  of  winning  any  of  those  prizes,  for 
he  was  too  much  of  a  Tory  to  please  the  Kit- 


Literary 249 

Cat  members.  Hence  the  story  which  tells  how 
the  members  requested  Mr.  Cat  to  bake  some 
of  his  pies  with  D'Urfey's  works  under  them. 
And  when  they  complained  that  the  pies  were 
not  baked  enough,  the  pastrycook  made  the  re- 
tort that  D'Urfey's  works  were  so  cold  that 
the  dough  could  not  bake  for  them. 

For  all  their  devotion  to  literature,  the  Kit- 
Cats  did  not  forget  to  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry. 
That  their  gatherings  were  convivial  enough  is 
illustrated    by    the    anecdote    of    Sir    Samuel 
Garth,  physician  to  George  I  as  well  as  poet. 
He  protested  at  one  meeting  that  he  would  have 
to  leave  early  to  visit  his  patients.     But  the 
evening  wore  on  and  still  he  stayed,  until  at 
length  Steele  reminded  him  of  his  engagements. 
Whereupon  Garth  pulled  out  a  list  of  fifteen 
patients,    and    remarked,    ''It    matters    little 
whether  I  see  them  or  not  to-night.     Nine  or 
ten  are  so  bad  that  all  the  doctors  in  the  world 
could  not  save  them,  and  the  remainder  have 
such  tough  constitutions  that  no  doctors  are 
needed  by  them.^'    It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the 
bottle  had  not  circulated  so  freely  on  that  eve- 
ning when  the  little  girl  who  afterwards  be- 
came Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  was  ush- 
ered into  the  presence  of  the  members.     Her 
proud  father,  Lord  Kingston,  nominated  her 


250    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

as  a  toast,  but  as  the  members  protested  that 
they  did  not  know  her,  the  child  was  sent  for 
on  the  spot.  On  her  arrival  the  little  beauty 
was  elected  by  acclamation.  That  triumph,  she 
afterwards  declared,  was  the  happiest  hour  of 
her  life. 

Despite  the  fact  that  it  had  no  formal  con- 
stitution, and  that  membership  therein  de- 
pended upon  a  lady's  favour,  the  Blue-Stocking 
Club  was  too  important  a  factor  in  the  literary 
life  of  old  London  to  be  overlooked.  It  owed 
its  existence  to  Elizabeth  Eobinson,  who  as  the 
wife  of  Edward  Montagu  found  herself  in  the 
possession  of  the  worldly  means  essential  to 
the  establishment  of  a  literary  salon.  It  had  its 
origin  in  a  series  of  afflictions.  Mrs.  Montagu 
first  lost  her  only  child,  and  shortly  after  her 
mother  and  favourite  brother.  These  bereave- 
ments put  her  on  the  track  of  distractions,  and 
a  visit  to  Bath,  where  she  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  poet  Young,  appears  to  have  sug- 
gested that  she  would  find  relief  from  her  sor- 
rows in  making  her  house  in  London  a  meeting- 
place  for  the  intellectual  spirits  of  the  capital. 
At  first  she  confined  her  enterprise  to  the  giv- 
ing of  literary  breakfasts,  but  these  were  soon 
followed  by  evening  assemblies  of  a  more  pre- 
tentious nature,  known  as  *'  conversation  par- 


Literary  251 

ties.''  The  lady  was  particular  to  whom  she 
sent  her  invitations.  In  a  letter  to  Garrick, 
inviting  him  to  give  a  recital,  she  wrote :  '  ^  You 
will  find  here  some  friends,  and  all  you  meet 
must  be  your  admirers,  for  I  never  invite  Idiots 
to  my  house.''  Unless  when  Garrick  or  some 
famous  French  actor  was  invited  to  give  a 
recital,  no  diversion  of  any  kind  was  allowed 
at  these  gatherings ;  card-playing  was  not  tol- 
erated, and  the  guests  were  supposed  to  find 
ample  enjoyment  in  the  discussion  of  bookish 
topics. 

Why  Mrs.  Montagu's  assemblies  were 
dubbed  the  Blue-Stocking  Club  has  never  been 
definitely  decided.  On  the  one  hand  the  term 
is  supposed  to  have  originated  from  the  fact 
that  Benjamin  Stillingfleet,  taking  advantage 
of  the  rule  which  stipulated  that  full  dress  was 
optional,  always  attended  in  blue  worsted  in- 
stead of  black  silk  stockings.  But  the  other 
theory  derives  the  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
ladies  who  frequented  the  gatherings  wore 
^^  blue  stockings  as  a  distinction  "  in  imita- 
tion of  a  fashionable  French  visitor  of  the  time. 

Plenty  of  ridicule  was  bestowed  upon  Mrs. 
Montagu  and  her  '^  conversation  parties."  but 
there  seems  some  truth  in  the  contention  of 
Hannah    More    that    those    ^'  blue-stocking  " 


252   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

meetings  did  much  to  rescue  fashionable  life 
from  the  tyranny  of  whist  and  quadrille. 
Whether  Mrs.  Montagu  really  possessed  any 
literary  ability  is  a  matter  which  does  not  call 
for  discussion  at  this  late  hour,  but  it  is  some- 
thing to  her  credit  that  she  was  able  to  attract 
under  her  roof  such  men  as  Horace  Walpole, 
Dr.  Johnson,  Burke,  Garrick,  Reynolds,  and 
many  other  conspicuous  figures  of  the  late 
eighteenth  century.  The  hostess  may  have 
wished  her  guests  to  credit  her  with  greater 
knowledge  than  she  really  had;  Johnson  said 
she  did  not  know  Greek,  and  had  but  a  slight 
knowledge  of  Latin,  though  she  was  willing  her 
friends  should  imagine  she  was  acquainted  with 
both;  but  the  same  authority  was  willing  to 
admit  that  she  was  a  very  extraordinary 
woman,  and  that  her  conversation  always  had 
meaning.  But,  as  usual,  we  must  turn  to  a 
member  of  her  own  sex  for  the  last  word  in  the 
matter.  Fanny  Burney  met  her  frequently, 
and  made  several  recording  entries  in  her 
diary.  Here  is  the  first  vignette :  ^ '  She  is  mid- 
dle-sized, very  thin,  and  looks  infirm;  she  has 
a  sensible  and  penetrating  countenance,  and  the 
air  and  manner  of  a  woman  accustomed  to  be- 
ing distinguished,  and  of  great  parts.  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  agrees  in  this,  told  us  that  a  Mrs. 


Literary  253 

Hervey,  of  his  acquaintance,  says  she  can  re- 
member Mrs.  Montagu  trying  for  this  same  air 
and  manner.  Mr.  Crisp  has  said  the  same: 
however,  nobody  can  now  impartially  see  her, 
and  not  confess  that  she  has  extremely  well 
succeeded.''  And  later  there  is  this  entry: 
''  We  went  to  dinner,  my  father  and  I,  and  met 
Mrs.  Montagu,  in  good  spirits,  and  very  unaf- 
fectedly agreeable.  No  one  was  there  to 
awaken  ostentation,  no  new  acquaintance  to 
require  any  surprise  from  her  powers;  she 
was  therefore  natural  and  easy,  as  well  as  in- 
forming and  entertaining." 

Almost  to  the  end  of  her  long  life  Mrs.  Mon- 
tagu maintained  her  Blue-Stocking  Club.  So 
late  as  1791,  when  she  had  reached  her  seventy- 
first  year,  she  gave  a  breakfast  of  which  Fanny 
Burney  wrote :  ' '  The  crowd  of  company  was 
such  that  we  could  only  slowly  make  our  way 
in  any  part.  There  could  not  be  fewer  than 
four  or  five  hundred  people.  It  was  like  a  full 
Eanelagh  by  daylight. ' '  That  other  breakfast- 
giver,  Samuel  Eogers,  who  only  knew  Mrs. 
Montagu  towards  the  close  of  her  life,  de- 
scribed her  as  ''  a  composition  of  art  "  and  as 
one  ''  long  attached  to  the  trick  and  show  of 
life.''  But  the  most  diverting  picture  of  the 
Queen   of   the   Blue-Stockings   was   given   by 


254   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

Eichard  Cumberland  in  a  paper  of  the  Ob- 
server. In  answer  to  one  of  her  invitation 
cards  he  arrived  at  her  salon  before  the  rest 
of  the  company,  and  had  opportunity  to  ob- 
serve that  several  new  publications,  stitched  in 
blue  paper,  were  lying  on  the  table,  with  scraps 
of  paper  stuck  between  the  leaves,  as  if  to  mark 
where  the  hostess  had  left  off  reading.  Va- 
nessa, for  under  that  title  did  Cumberland  pre- 
sent Mrs.  Montagu,  entered  the  room  shortly 
afterwards,  dressed  in  a  petticoat  embroidered 
with  the  ruins  of  Palmyra.  The  lady  is  made 
to  mistake  the  author  for  the  inventor  of  a 
diving-bell,  and  to  address  him  accordingly, 
with  delightful  results.  The  various  visitors  are 
described  in  the  same  hmnourous  manner,  and 
then  comes  the  climax.  **  Vanessa  now  came 
up,  and  desiring  leave  to  introduce  a  young 
muse  to  Melpomene,  presented  a  girl  in  a  white 
frock  with  a  fillet  of  flowers  twined  round  her 
hair,  which  hung  down  her  back  in  flowing 
curls;  the  young  muse  made  a  low  obeisance 
in  the  style  of  an  oriental  salaam,  and  with  the 
most  unembarrassed  voice  and  countenance, 
while  the  poor  actress  was  covered  with 
blushes,  and  suffering  torture  from  the  eyes  of 
all  the  room,  broke  forth  as  follows.''  But  the 
recorder    of    that    particular    meeting    of    the 


Literary  ^^^ 


Blue-Stocking  Club  could  endure  no  more.  He 
fled  the  house  as  hastily  as  though  he  had  just 
learnt  it  was  infected  with  the  plague. 

Although  several  lists  are  printed  which  pro- 
fess to  give  the  names  of  ''  the  principal  clubs 
of  London,"  they  may  be  searched  in  vain  for 
that  one  which  can  rightly  claim  to  be  The  Club. 
Nevertheless,   ignorance   of   its   existence   can 
hardly   be   reckoned   a    reproach   in   view   of 
the  confession  of  Tennyson.    When  asked  by 
a  member,  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  to  allow  him  to 
place  his  name  in  nomination,  Tennyson  re- 
joined, ''  Before  answering  definitely,  I  should 
like  to  know  something  about  expenses.    '  The 
Club^  '    It  is  either  my  fault  or  my  misfortune 
that  I  have  never  heard  of  it."    When  the  poet 
made  that  confession  he  was  in  his  fifty-sixth 
year,  and  up  to  that  time,  apparently,  had  not 
read  his  Boswell.     Or  if  he  had,  he  was  not 
aware  that  the  club  Eeynolds  had  founded  m 
1764  under  the  name  of  The  Club,  of  which  the 
title  had  subsequently  been  changed  to  the  Lit- 
erary Club,  still  existed  under  its  original  des- 
ignation. 

Another  fact  is  likely  to  confuse  the  historian 
of  this  club  unless  he  is  careful.  Owing  to  the 
fact  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  one  of  the  original 
members,  and  dominated  its  policy  after  his 


256   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

usual  autocratic  manner,  it  is  sometimes  known 
as  Dr.  Johnson's  Club.  However,  there  is  no 
disputing  the  fact  that  the  credit  of  its  origin 
belongs  to  the  ''  dear  knight  of  Plympton,''  as 
the  great  painter  was  called  by  one  of  his 
friends.  The  idea  of  its  establishment  at  once 
won  the  approval  of  Johnson,  and  it  started 
on  its  illustrious  career  having  as  its  members 
those  two  and  Edmund  Burke,  Dr.  Nugent, 
Topham  Beauclerk,  Bennet  Langton,  Oliver 
Goldsmith,  Anthony  Chamier  and  Sir  John 
Hawkins.  Soon  after  its  foundation,  the  num- 
ber of  members  was  increased  to  twelve,  then 
it  was  enlarged  to  twenty,  and  subsequently  to 
twenty-six,  then  to  thirty,  and  finally  to  thirty- 
five  with  a  proviso  that  the  total  should  never 
exceed  forty. 

To  set  forth  a  list  of  the  members  of  The 
Club  from  1764  to  the  present  year  would  be 
to  write  down  the  names  of  many  of  the  men 
most  eminent  in  English  history.  In  Boswell's 
time  those  who  had  been  admitted  to  its  select 
circle  included  David  Garrick,  Adam  Smith, 
Edward  Gibbon,  Sir  William  Jones,  Sir  Will- 
iam Hamilton,  Charles  James  Fox,  Bishop 
Percy,  Dr.  Joseph  Warton,  and  Richard  Brins- 
ley  Sheridan.  In  more  modern  days  the  mem- 
bers have  included  Tennyson,  Macaulay,  Hux- 


Literary 257 

ley,  Gladstone,  Lord  Acton,  Lord  Dufferin, 
w/h.  E.  Lecky  and  Lord  Salisbury.  The  limit 
of  membership  is  still  maintained;  it  is  yet 
the  rule  that  one  black  ball  will  exclude ;  and 
the  election  of  a  member  is  still  announced  in 
the  stilted  form  which  Gibbon  drafted  by  way 
of  a  joke:  ''  Sir,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  inform 
you  that  you  had  last  night  the  honour  to  be 
elected  as  a  member  of  The  Club.'' 

As  The  Club  had  no  formal  constitution  it 
was  an  easy  matter  to  regulate  its  gatherings  by 
the  convenience  of  the  members.    Thus,  at  first 
the  meetings  were  held  at  seven  on  Monday  eve- 
nings, then  the  day  was  changed  to  Friday,  and 
afterwards  it  was  resolved  to  come  together 
once  a  fortnight  during  the  sitting  of  Parlia- 
ment.     Although    admission   was    so    strictly 
guarded  that  its  membership  was  accounted  a 
rare  honour.  The  Club  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  in  a  flourishing  condition  in  its  second 
decade.      Otherwise    Beauclerk   would   hardly 
have  written,  ' '  Our  club  has  dwindled  away 
to  nothing;   nobody  attends  but  Mr.  Chamier, 
and  he  is  going  to  the  East  Indies.    Sir  Joshua 
and  Goldsmith  have  got  into  such  a  round  of 
pleasures  that  they  have  no  time."     Two  or 
three  years  later  Edmund  Malone,  the  literary 
critic  and  Shakesperian  scholar,  was  moving 


258   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

heaven  and  earth  to  secure  his  own  election. 
*  ^  I  have  lately, ' '  he  wrote  to  a  member,  ^ '  made 
two  or  three  attempts  to  get  into  your  club,  but 
have  not  yet  been  able  to  succeed  —  though  I 
have  some  friends  there  —  Johnson,  Burke, 
Steevens,  Sir  J.  Reynolds  and  Marlay — -which 
in  so  small  a  society  is  a  good  number.  At 
first  they  said,  I  think,  they  thought  it  a  respect 
to  Grarrick^s  memory  not  to  elect  one  for  some 
time  in  his  room  —  which  (in  any  one's  case 
but  my  own  I  should  say)  was  a  strange  kind 
of  motive  —  for  the  more  agreeable  he  was, 
the  more  need  there  is  of  supplying  the  want, 
by  some  substitute  or  other.  But  as  I  have  no 
pretensions  to  ground  even  a  hope  upon,  of 
being  a  succedaneum  to  such  a  man  —  the  ar- 
gument was  decisive  and  I  could  say  nothing 
to  it.  ^  Anticipation  '  Tickell  and  J.  Town- 
shend  are  candidates  as  well  as  myself  —  and 
they  have  some  thoughts  of  enlarging  their 
numbers;  so  perhaps  we  may  be  all  elected 
together.  I  am  not  quite  so  anxious  as  Ag- 
mondisham  Vesey  was,  who,  I  am  told,  had 
couriers  stationed  to  bring  him  the  quickest 
intelligence  of  his  success.'' 

Malone  appears  to  have  thought  that  it  was 
a  mere  subterfuge  to  instance  the  death  of  Gar- 
rick  as  a  reason  for  not  electing  him.    But  it 


Literary 259 

was  nothing  of  the  kind.    The  Club  did  actually 
impose  upon  itself  a  year's  widowhood,  so  to 
speak,  when  Garrick  died.    And  yet  his  election 
had  not  been  an  easy  matter.    That  was  largely 
his  own  fault.    When  Reynolds  first  mentioned 
The  Club  to  him,  he  ejaculated  in  his  airy  man- 
ner, ' '  I  like  it  much ;  I  think  I  shall  be  of  you. ' ' 
Of  course  Reynolds   reported  the  remark  to 
Johnson,  with  a  result  that  might  have  been 
anticipated.     ''  He'll  he  of  us/'  Johnson  re- 
peated, and  then  added,  ''  How  does  he  know 
we  will  permit  him!    The  first  duke  in  England 
has  no  right  to  hold  such  language.''     Other 
recorders  of  Johnson's  conversation  credit  him 
with  threatening  to  black-ball  the  actor,  and 
with  the  expression  of  the  wish  that  he  might 
have  one  place  of  resort  where  he  would  be 
free  of  the  company  of  the  player.    Whatever 
Johnson's  attitude  was,  the  fact  remains  that 
Garrick 's  election  was  opposed  for  a  consid- 
erable time,  though  when  he  was  made  a  mem- 
ber he  approved  himself  a  welcome  addition  to 

the  circle. 

Unconsciously  amusing  is  the  account  Bos- 
well  gives  of  his  own  election.  The  Club  had 
been  in  existence  some  nine  years  when  the 
fatal  night  of  the  balloting  arrived.  Beau- 
clerk  had  a  dinner  party  at  his  house  before 


260   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

the  club-meeting,  and  when  he  and  the  other 
members  left  for  the  ceremony  the  anxious 
Boswell  was  committed  to  the  hospitality  of 
Lady  Di,  whose  ''  charming  conversation  " 
was  not  entirely  adequate  to  keep  up  his 
spirits.  In  a  short  time,  however,  the  glad 
tidings  of  his  election  came,  and  the  fussy  lit- 
tle Scotsman  hurried  off  to  the  place  of  meet- 
ing to  be  formally  received.  It  is  impossible 
to  read  without  a  smile  the  swelling  sentences 
with  which  he  closes  his  narrative.  He  was 
introduced  *^  to  such  a  society  as  can  seldom 
be  found.  Mr.  Edmund  Burke,  whom  I  then 
saw  for  the  first  time,  and  whose  splendid  tal- 
ents had  long  made  me  ardently  wish  for  his 
acquaintance;  Dr.  Nugent,  Mr.  Garrick,  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir  William) 
Jones,  and^  the  company  with  whom  I  had 
dined.  Upon  my  entrance,  Johnson  placed 
himself  behind  a  chair,  on  which  he  leaned  as 
on  a  desk  or  pulpit,  and  with  humourous  for- 
mality gave  me  a  charge,  pointing  out  the  con- 
duct expected  from  me  as  a  good  member  of 
this  club.''  There  was  probably  more  than 
**  humourous  formality  ''  at  the  back  of  John- 
son's mind  that  night.  He  was  responsible  for 
Boswell's  election,  and  may  well  have  had  a 


Literary  261 

doubt  or  two  as  to  how  that  inconsequential 
person  would  behave  in  such  a  circle. 

As  Johnson  had  had  his  way  in  the  case  of 
Boswell,  he  could  not  very  well  object  when 
some  were  proposed  as  members  with  whom, 
from  the  political  and  religious  point  of  view, 
he  had  little  sympathy.  But  he  had  the  grace 
to  regard  the  matter  with  philosophy.  When 
its  numbers  were  increased  to  thirty,  he  de- 
clared he  was  glad  of  it,  for  as  there  were  sev- 
eral with  whom  he  did  not  like  to  consort,  some- 
thing would  be  gained  by  making  it  ^^  a  mere 
miscellaneous  collection  of  conspicuous  men, 
without  any  determinate  character. '^  The  po- 
litical difficulty  was  felt  by  other  members. 
That  fact  is  oppressively  illustrated  by  an  ac- 
count of  a  meeting  recorded  by  Dr.  Burney, 
the  father  of  the  talented  Fanny,  in  a  letter 
to  his  daughter,  dated  January  31st,  1793,  at 
a  time,  consequently,  when  excitement  still  ran 
high  at  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI  of  France : 
**  At  the  Club  on  Tuesday,  the  fullest  I  ever 
knew,  consisting  of  fifteen  members,  fourteen 
all  seemed  of  one  mind,  and  full  of  reflections 
on  the  late  transaction  in  France;  but,  when 
about  half  the  company  was  assembled,  who 
should  come  in  but  Charles  Fox!    There  were 


262    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


already  three  or  four  bishops  arrived,  hardly 
one  of  whom  could  look  at  hini,  I  believe,  with- 
out horror.  After  the  first  bow  and  cold  sal- 
utation, the  conversation  stood  still  for  several 
minutes.  During  dinner  Mr.  Windham,  and 
Burke,  jun.,  came  in,  who  were  obliged  to  sit 
at  a  side  table.  All  were  houtonnes,  and  not  a 
word  of  the  martyred  king  or  politics  of  any 
kind  was  mentioned;  and  though  the  company 
was  chiefly  composed  of  the  most  eloquent  and 
loquacious  men  in  the  kingdom,  the  conversa- 
tion was  the  dullest  and  most  uninteresting  I 
ever  remember  at  this  or  any  such  large  meet- 
ing.'' There  were  evidently  serious  disadvan- 
tages then  in  the  mixed  nature  of  the  club,  as 
there  have  been  since.  For  example,  how  did 
Gladstone  meet  Huxley  after  his  Gadarene 
swine  had  been  so  unmercifully  treated  by  the 
man  of  science? 

When  Johnson  reached  his  seventy-fourth 
year,  and  found  himself  the  victim  of  infirmi- 
ties which  prompted  him  to  seek  his  social  in- 
tercourse near  at  hand,  he  conceived  the  idea 
of  founding  what  was  known  as  his  Essex 
Street  Club.  One  of  his  first  invitations  was 
sent  to  Reynolds,  but  the  painter  did  not  see 
his  way  to  join.  The  members  included  the 
inevitable  Boswell,  the  Hon.  Daines  Barring- 


Literary  263 

ton,  famous  for  his  association  with  Gilbert 
White,  and  others  whom  Boswell  noted  as  men 
of  distinction,  but  whose  names  are  no  more 
than  names  at  this  distance.  Johnson  drew  up 
the  rules  of  the  club,  which  restricted  its  mem- 
bership to  two  dozen,  appointed  the  meetings 
on  Monday,  Thursday  and  Saturday  of  each 
week,  allowed  a  member  to  introduce  a  friend 
once  a  week,  insisted  that  each  member  should 
spend  at  least  sixpence  at  each  gathering,  en- 
forced a  fine  of  threepence  for  absence,  and 
laid  down  the  regulation  that  every  individual 
should  defray  his  own  expense.  And  a  final 
rule  stipulated  a  penny  tip  for  the  waiter.  The 
meeting-place  was  a  tavern  in  Essex  Street, 
known  as  the  Essex  Head,  of  which  the  host 
was  an  old  servant  of  Mr.  Thrale's.  Boswell, 
as  in  duty  bound,  seeing  he  was  a  member,  de- 
clared there  were  few  societies  where  there 
was  better  conversation  or  more  decorum.  And 
he  added  that  eight  years  after  the  loss  of  its 
^'  great  founder  "  the  members  were  still  hold- 
ing happily  together.  But  it  was  founded  too 
late  in  the  day  to  gather  around  it  many  nota- 
ble Johnsonian  associations,  and  after  his 
death  it  was,  on  Boswell's  showing,  too  happy 
to  have  any  history. 

Among  the  informal  clubs  of  old  London,  a 


264   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

distinguished  place  belongs  to  that  assemblage 
of  variously-talented  men,  who,  under  the  title 
of  the  Wittenagemot  abrogated  to  themselves 
the  exclusive  use  of  a  box  in  the  north-east 
corner  of  the  Chapter  coffee-house.  It  found 
a  capable  if  terse  historian  in  one  of  its  mem- 
bers, who  explains  that  the  club  had  two  sec- 
tions. The  one  took  possession  of  the  box  at 
the  earliest  hour  of  the  morning,  and  from  their 
habit  of  taking  the  papers  fresh  from  the  news- 
men were  called  the  Wet  Paper  Club.  In  the 
afternoon  the  other  section  took  possession, 
and  were  as  keen  to  scan  the  wet  evening  pa- 
pers as  their  colleagues  to  peruse  those  of  the 
forenoon.  Among  the  members  of  the  Witten- 
agemot were  Dr.  Buchan,  the  author  of  a 
standard  treatise  on  medicine,  who  although  a 
Tory  was  so  tolerant  of  all  views  that  he  was 
elected  moderator  of  the  meetings ;  a  Mr.  Ham- 
mond, a  manufacturer,  who  had  not  been  absent 
for  nearly  forty-five  years;  a  Mr.  Murray,  a 
Scottish  Episcopal  minister,  who  every  day  ac- 
complished the  feat  of  reading  through  at  least 
once  all  the  London  papers ;  a  ^  *  growling  per- 
son of  the  name  of  Dobson,  who,  when  his 
asthma  permitted,  vented  his  spleen  "  upon 
both  sides  of  politics;    and  Mr.  Robison  the 


Literary  265 

publisher,  and  Kichard,  afterwards  Sir  Ricli- 
ard,  Phillips,  so  keenly  alert  in  recruiting  for 
his  Monthly  Magazine  that  he  used  to  attend 
with  a  waistcoat  pocket  full  of  guineas  as  an 
earnest  of  his  good  intentions  and  financial 
solvency. 

Perhaps,  however,  the  most  original  member 
of  the  Wittenagemot  was  a  young  man  of  the 
name  of  Wilson,  to  whom  the  epithet  of 
*^  Long-Bow  '^  was  soon  applied  on  account  of 
the  extraordinary  stories  he  retailed  concern- 
ing the  secrets  of  the  upper  ten.  Just  as  he 
appeared  to  be  established  in  the  unique  circle 
at  the  Chapter  he  disappeared,  the  cause  being 
that  he  had  run  up  a  bill  of  between  thirty  and 
forty  pounds.  The  strange  thing  was,  however, 
that  the  keeper  of  the  coffee-house,  a  Miss 
Brun,  begged  that  if  any  one  met  Mr.  Wilson 
they  would  express  to  him  her  willingness  to 
give  a  full  discharge  for  the  past  and  future 
credit  to  any  amount,  for,  she  said,  '^  if  he 
never  paid  us,  he  was  one  of  the  best  customers 
we  ever  had,  contriving,  by  his  stories  and  con- 
versation, to  keep  a  couple  of  boxes  crowded 
the  whole  night,  by  which  we  made  more  punch, 
and  brandy  and  water,  than  from  any  other 
single  customer/*     But  the  useful  Long-Bow 


266   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


Wilson  was  never  seen  again,  and  several  years 
later  tlie  Wittenagemot  itself  died  of  disintegra- 
tion. It  was  more  fortunate,  however,  than 
scores  of  similar  clubs  in  old  London,  of  which 
the  history  is  entirely  wanting. 


CHAPTER  II 

SOCIAL  AND   GAMING 

Neither  of  the  literary  societies  described  in 
the  previous  chapter  could  claim  to  be  a  club 
in  the  present  accepted  meaning  of  that  term. 
Even  Dr.  Johnson's  famous  definition,  ''  An 
assembly  of  good  fellows,  meeting  under  cer- 
tain conditions,"  needs  amplification.    Perhaps 
the  most  satisfactory  exposition  is  that  given 
in  ''  The  Original  "  which  was  applied  in  the 
first  instance  to  the  Athenaeum.    ''  The  build- 
ing," said  Walker,  ''  is  a  sort  of  palace,  and 
is  kept  with  the  same  exactness  and  comfort 
as  a  private  dwelling.    Every  member  is  a  mas- 
ter without  any  of  the  trouble  of  a  master.    He 
can  come  when  he  pleases,  and  stay  away  as 
long  as  he  pleases,   without   anything   going 
wrong.    He  has  the  command  of  regular  serv- 
ants without  having  to  pay  or  to  manage  them. 
He  can  have  whatever  meal  or  refreshment  he 
wants,  at  all  hours,  and  served  up  with  the 
cleanliness  and  comfort  of  his  own  house.    He 
orders  just  what  he  pleases,  having  no  interest 

267 


268   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

to  think  of  but  his  own.  In  short,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  suppose  a  greater  degree  of  liberty  in 
living/'  This  is  somewhat  copious  for  a  defi- 
nition, but  it  would  be  difficult  to  put  into 
smaller  compass  the  various  traits  which 
marked  the  social  and  gaming  clubs  of  old 
London. 

All  those  qualities,  however,  were  not  in  evi- 
dence from  the  first.  They  were  a  matter  of 
growth,  of  adaptation  to  needs  as  those  needs 
were  realized.  The  evolution  of  the  club  in 
that  sense  is  nowhere  better  illustrated  than 
in  the  case  of  White's,  which  can  claim  the 
proud  honour  of  being  the  oldest  among  Lon- 
don clubs.  It  was  established  as  a  Chocolate- 
house  about  1698,  and  as  such  was  a  resort 
open  to  all.  Even  in  those  days  it  was  notori- 
ous for  the  high  play  which  went  on  within 
its  walls.  Swift  has  recorded  that  the  Earl  of 
Oxford  never  passed  the  building  in  St. 
James's  Street  without  bestowing  a  curse  upon 
it  as  the  bane  of  half  the  English  nobility.  And 
a  little  later  it  was  frankly  described  as  '^  a 
Den  of  Thieves." 

Fire  destroyed  the  first  White's  a  little  more 
than  a  generation  after  it  was  opened.  Its 
owner  at  that  time  was  one  named  x\rthur,  and 
the  account  of  the  conflagration  tells  how  his 


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>       1         1 


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it 


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I      <  (      I      « 


Social  and  Gaming  269 

wife  leaped  out  of  a  window  two  stories  high 
onto  a  feather  bed  and  thus  escaped  without 
injury.  George  II  went  to  see  the  fire,  accom- 
panied by  the  Prince  of  Wales,  both  of  whom 
encouraged  the  firemen  with  liberal  offers  of 
money.  But  royal  exhortations  did  not  avail 
to  save  the  building;  it  was  utterly  consumed, 
with  a  valuable  collection  of  paintings. 

Two  or  three  years  after  the  opening  of  the 
new  building  White's  ceased  to  be  a  public  re- 
sort as  a  Chocolate-house  and  became  a  club 
in  the  strict  meaning  of  the  word.  It  remained 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Arthur  till  his  death 
in  1761,  and  then  passed  into  the  control  of 
Eobert  Mackreth,  who  had  begun  his  career 
as  a  billiard-marker  in  the  establishment. 
Mackreth  married  Arthur's  only  daughter  a 
few  months  after  her  father's  death,  and  thus 
gained  an  assured  hold  on  the  property,  which 
he  seems  to  have  retained  till  his  death,  al- 
though managing  the  club  through  an  agent. 
This  agent  was  known  as  ^'  the  Cherubim," 
and  figures  in  the  note  Mackreth  addressed  to 
George  Selwyn  when  he  retired  from  the  active 
oversight  of  the  club.  ^^  Sir,"  he  wrote, 
**  Having  quitted  business  entirely  and  let  my 
house  to  the  Cherubim,  who  is  my  near  rela- 
tion, I  humbly  beg  leave,  after  returning  you 


270    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

my  most  grateful  thanks  for  all  favours,  to 
recommend  him  to  your  patronage,  not  doubt- 
ing by  the  long  experience  I  have  had  of  his 
fidelity  but  that  he  will  strenuously  endeavour 
to  oblige."  Before  this  change  took  place  the 
club  had  removed  to  its  present  premises, 
which,  however,  have  been  considerably  altered 
both  inside  and  out.  The  freehold  of  the  house 
realized  forty-six  thousand  pounds  when  of- 
fered for  sale  a  generation  ago. 

From  a  study  of  the  club  records,  which  ex- 
tend back  to  1736,  it  is  possible  to  trace  its 
evolution  to  the  close  corporation  it  has  be- 
come. Eules  of  a  more  and  more  stringent 
nature  were  gradually  adopted,  but  at  the  same 
time  its  reputation  for  gambling  was  on  the 
increase.  There  was  hardly  any  probability 
upon  whicV  the  members  did  not  stake  large 
sums  of  money.  The  marriage  of  a  young  lady 
of  rank  led  to  a  bet  of  one  hundred  guineas 
that  she  would  give  birth  to  a  child  before  a 
certain  countess  who  had  been  married  several 
months  earlier;  another  wager  was  laid  that 
a  member  of  infamous  character  would  be  the 
first  baronet  hung;  and  when  a  man  dropped 
dead  at  the  door  of  the  club  and  was  carried 
into  the  building,  the  members  promptly  began 
betting  whether  he  was  dead  or  not,  and  pro- 


Social  and  Gaming  271 

tested  against  the  bleeding  of  the  body  on  the 
plea  that  it  would  affect  the  fairness  of  the 
wagers.  Well  might  Young  write  in  one  of 
his  epistles  to  Pope: 

"  Clodio  dress'd,  danc'd,  drank,  visited,  (the  whole 
And  great  concern  of  an  immortal  soul ! ) 
Oft  have  I  said,  '  Awake !  exist !  and  strive 
For  birth !  nor  think  to  loiter  is  to  live ! ' 
As  oft  I  overheard  the  demon  say, 
Who  daily  met  the  loiterer  in  his  way, 
'  I'll  meet  thee,  youth,  at  White's : '  the  youth  replies, 

*  I'll  meet  thee  there,'  and  falls  his  sacrifice ; 
His  fortune  squander'd,  leaves  his  virtue  bare 
To  every  bribe,  and  blind  to  every  snare." 

Another  witness  to  the  prevalent  spirit  of 
White's  at  this  time  is  supplied  by  Lord  Lyt- 
telton  in  a  private  letter,  wherein  he  wrote  that 
he  had  fears,  should  his  son  become  a  member 
of  that  club,  the  rattling  of  a  dice-box  would 
shake  down  all  the  fine  oaks  of  his  estate. 

Mackreth  manifested  great  worldly  wisdom 
in  addressing  himself  to  George  Selwyn  when 
he  retired  from  the  active  management  of  the 
club,  for  he  knew  that  no  other  member  had 
so  much  influence  in  the  smart  set  of  the  day. 
Selwyn  was  a  member  of  Brooks's  as  well, 
and  for  a  time  divided  his  favours  pretty 
equally  between  the  two  houses,  but  in  his  lat- 


272   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


ter  years  seems  to  have  felt  a  preference  for 
White's.  The  incidental  history  of  the  club  for 
many  years  finds  more  lively  chronicle  in  his 
letters  than  anj^where  else,  for  he  was  constant 
in  his  attendance  and  was  the  best-known  of 
its  members.  Through  those  letters  we  catch 
many  glimiDses  of  Charles  James  Fox  at  all 
stages  of  his  strange  career.  We  see  him,  for 
example,  loitering  at  the  club  drinking  hard 
till  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  find  him 
there  sitting  up  the  entire  night  preceding  his 
mother's  death,  planning  a  kind  of  ^*  itinerant 
trade,  which  was  of  going  from  horse-race  to 
horse-race,  and  so,  by  knowing  the  value  and 
speed  of  all  the  horses  in  England,  to  acquire 
a  certain  fortune."  Later,  we  see  the  brilliant 
statesman  flitting  about  the  club  rooms,  **  as 
much  the  minister  in  all  his  deportment,  as  if 
he  had  been  in  office  forty  years." 

Among  the  countless  vignettes  of  club  life 
at  White's  as  they  crop  up  in  Selw^m's  letters 
it  is  difficult  to  pick  and  choose,  but  a  few  taken 
almost  at  random  will  revive  scenes  of  a  long- 
past  time.  Here  is  one  of  a  supper-party  in 
1781 :  ^  *  We  had  a  pretty  group  of  Papists  — 
Lord  Petres  at  the  head  of  them  —  some  Pa- 
pists reformed,  and  one  Jew.  A  club  that  used 
to  be  quite  intolerable  is  now  becoming  tol- 


Social  and  Gaming  273 

erating  and  agreeable,  and  Scotchmen  are  nat- 
uralized and  received  with  great  good  humour. 
The  people  are  civil,  not  one  word  of  party, 
no  personal  reflections/'  A  few  days  later 
Selwyn  tells  this  story  against  himself.  *^  On 
my  return  home  I  called  in  at  White's,  and  in 
a  minute  or  two  afterwards  Lord  Loughbor- 
ough came  with  the  Duke  of  Dorset,  I  believe 
the  first  time  since  his  admittance.  I  would 
be  extraordinarily  civil,  and  so  immediately 
told  him  that  I  hoped  Lady  Loughborough  was 
well.  I  do  really  hope  so,  now  that  I  know  that 
she  is  dead.  But  the  devil  a  word  did  I  hear 
of  her  since  he  was  at  your  house  in  St.  James's 
Street.  He  stared  at  me,  as  a  child  would  have 
done  at  an  Iroquois,  and  the  Duke  of  Dorset 
seemed  tout  confus.  I  felt  as  if  I  looked  like 
an  oaf,  but  how  I  appeared  God  knows.  I 
turned  the  discourse,  as  you  may  suppose." 
And  here  is  a  peep  of  a  gambling  party  at  faro. 
'*  I  went  last  night  to  White's,  and  stayed  there 
till  two.  The  Pharo  party  was  amusing.  Five 
such  beggars  could  not  have  met;  four  lean 
crows  feeding  on  a  dead  horse.  Poor  Parsons 
held  the  bank.  The  punters  were  Lord  Car- 
marthen, Lord  Essex,  and  one  of  the  Fau- 
quiers;  and  Denbigh  sat  at  the  table,  with 
what  hopes  I  know  not,  for  he  did  not  punt. 


274   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


Essex's  supply  is  from  Hs  son,  whicli  is  more 
than  lie  deserves,  but  Maiden,  I  suppose,  gives 
him  a  little  of  his  milk,  like  the  Roman  lady 
to  her  father. '^ 

Other  glimpses  might  be  taken  such  as  would 
give  point  to  Rowlandson's  caricature  of  a 
later  day  in  which  he  depicted  a  scene  in  *  *  The 
Brilliants  "  club-room.  The  rules  to  be  ob- 
served in  this  convivial  society  set  forth  that 
each  member  should  fill  a  bumper  to  the  first 
toast,  that  after  twenty-four  bumper  toasts 
every  member  might  fill  as  he  pleased,  and  that 
any  member  refusing  to  comply  with  the  fore- 
going was  to  be  fined  by  being  compelled  to 
swallow  a  copious  draught  of  salt  and  water. 
Rowlandson  did  not  overlook  the  gambling 
propensities  of  such  clubs,  as  may  be  seen  by 
his  picture ^of  ^'  E  0,  or  the  Fashionable  Vow- 
els.'' By  1781  there  were  swarms  of  these 
E  0  tables  in  different  parts  of  London,  where 
any  one  with  a  shilling  might  try  his  luck. 
They  had  survived  numerous  attempts  at  their 
suppression,  some  of  which  dated  as  far  back 
as  1731. 

All  the  characteristic  features  of  Wliite's 
were  to  be  found  at  Brooks's  club  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  St.  James's  Street,  the  chief  differ- 
ence between  the  two  being  that  the  former  was 


'  '    1,1 


( 
t  < 


Social  and  Gaming  275 


the  recognized  liauiit  of  the  Tories  and  the  lat- 
ter of  the  Whigs.    This  political  distinction  is 
underlined  in  Gillray's  amusing  caricature  of 
1796,   in   which  he   depicted   the   ^*  Promised 
Horrors  of  the  French  Invasion."    The  draw- 
ing was  an  ironical  treatment  of  the  evil  effects 
Burke  foretold  of  the  "  Eegicide  Peace,"  and 
takes  for  granted  the  landing  of  the  French, 
the  burning  of  St.  James's  Palace  and  other 
disasters.     According  to  the  artist,  the  inva- 
ders have  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  great 
clubs,    and   are   wreaking   vengeance    on   that 
special  Tory  club —  White's  — while  Brooks's 
over  the  way  is  a  scene  of  rejoicing.    The  fig- 
ures hanging  from  the  lamp-post  are  those  of 
Canning  and  Jackson,  while  Pitt,  firmly  lashed 
to  the  Tree   of  Liberty,  is  being  vigorously 

flogged  by  Fox. 

During  the  earlier  years  of  its  history 
Brooks's  was  known  as  Almack's,  its  founder 
having  been  that  William  Almack  who  also 
established  the  famous  assembly-rooms  known 
by  his  name.  The  club  was  opened  in  Pall 
Mall  as  a  gaming-salon  in  1763,  and  it  speedily 
acquired  a  reputation  which  even  White's 
would  have  been  proud  to  claim.  Walpole 
relates  that  in  1770  the  young  men  of  that  time 
lost  five,  ten,  fifteen  thousand  pounds  in  an 


276   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

evening's  play.  The  two  sons  of  Lord  Holland 
lost  thirty-two  thousand  pounds  in  two  nights, 
greatly,  no  doubt,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Hebrew  money-lenders  who  awaited  gamblers 
in  the  outer  room,  which  Charles  Fox  accord- 
ingly christened  the  Jerusalem  Chamber. 
While  it  still  retained  its  original  name,  Gib- 
bon became  a  member  of  the  club,  and  Re^molds 
wished  to  be.  ''Would  you  imagine, '^  wrote 
Topham  Beauclerk,  ''  that  Sir  J.  Eeynolds  is 
extremely  anxious  to  be  a  member  of  Almack's? 
You  see  what  noble  ambition  will  make  men 
attempt.''  Gibbon  found  the  place  to  his  lik- 
ing. ''  Town  grows  empty,"  he  wrote  in  June, 
1776,  ''  and  this  house,  where  I  have  passed 
very  agreeable  hours,  is  the  only  place  which 
still  invites  the  flower  of  English  youth.  The 
style  of  living,  though  somewhat  expensive,  is 
exceedingly  pleasant;  and,  notwithstanding 
the  rage  of  play,  I  have  found  more  entertain- 
ment and  even  rational  society  here  than  in 
any  other  club  to  which  I  belong." 

Two  years  later  Almack's  became  Brooks's. 
Why  the  original  proprietor  parted  with  so 
valuable  a  property  is  not  clear,  but  the  fact 
is  indisputable  that  in  1778  the  club  passed  into 
the  possession  of  a  wine  merchant  and  money- 
lender of  the  name  of  Brooks,  whose  fame  was 


>     3  J      1    3 


^ 


Social  and  Gaming  277 

celebrated  a  few  years  later  by  the  poet  Tick- 
ell. 

"Liberal  Brooks,  whose  speculative  skill 
Is  hasty  credit,  and  a  distant  bill; 
Who,  nursed  in  clubs,  disdains  a  vulgar  trade. 
Exults  to  trust,  and  blushes  to  be  paid." 

It  was  the  new  owner  who  built  the  premises 
in  which  the  club  still  meets,  but  that  partic- 
ular speculation  does  not  appear  to  have  pros- 
pered, for  the  story  is  that  he  died  in  poverty. 
Under  the  new  regime  the  house  kept  up  its 
reputation  for  high  play.  But  there  was  a  time 
soon  after  the  change  when  its  future  did  not 
look  promising.  Thus  in  1781  Selwyn  wrote: 
*^  No  event  at  Brooks's,  but  the  general  opin- 
ion is  that  it  is  en  decadence.  Blue  has  been 
obliged  to  give  a  bond  with  interest  for  what 
he  has  eat  there  for  some  time.  This  satisfies 
both  him  and  Brooks;  he  was  then,  by  provi- 
sion, to  sup  or  dine  there  no  more  without  pay- 
ing. Jack  Townshend  told  me  that  the  other 
night  the  room  next  to  the  supper  room  was 
full  of  the  insolvents  or  freebooters,  and  no 
supper  served  up;  at  last  the  Duke  of  Bolton 
walked  in,  ordered  supper;  a  hot  one  was 
served  up,  and  then  the  others  all  rushed  in 
through  the  gap,  after  him,  and  eat  and  drank 
in  spite  of  Brooks's  teeth."    A  state  of  affairs 


278  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


which  goes  far  to  explain  why  the  club  was  in 
a  precarious  condition. 

Charles  Fox  was  of  course  as  much  at  home 
at  Brooks's  as  White's.  It  was,  naturally, 
more  of  a  political  home  for  him  than  the  Tory 
resort.  This  receives  many  illustrations  in  the 
letters  of  Selw^oi,  especially  at  the  time  when 
he  formed  his  coalition  with  Lord  North.  Even 
then  he  managed  to  mingle  playing  and  pol- 
itics. ^^  I  own,"  wrote  Selwyn,  ^^  that  to  see 
Charles  closeted  every  instant  at  Brooks's  by 
one  or  other,  that  he  can  neither  punt  or  deal 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  but  he  is  obliged  to 
give  an  audience,  while  Hare  is  whispering 
and  standing  behind  him,  like  Jack  Eobinson, 
with  a  pencil  and  paper  for  mems.,  is  to  me  a 
scene  la  plus  parfaitement  que  Von  puisse  ima- 
giner,  and^  to  nobody  it  seems  more  risible 
than  to  Charles  himself."  The  farce  was  being 
continued  a  few  days  later.  ''  I  stayed  at 
Brooks's  this  morning  till  between  two  and 
three,  and  then  Charles  was  giving  audiences 
in  every  corner  of  the  room,  and  that  idiot 
Lord  D.  telling  aloud  whom  he  should  turn 
out,  how  civil  he  intended  to  be  to  the  Prince, 
and  how  rude  to  the  King." 

Notwithstanding  his  preference  for  A\niite's, 
Selwyn  exercised  his  voting  power  at  Brooks's 


'  <  <        ' 


(         I     ( 


ft      •     •,  -  « 


ci    <"     t'r  *•••    •  •■         '         *-      -, 

'      "  r      f      f  ' 


:''''. 


PQ 
& 
I-) 
U 

O 
O 

o 

o 

h4 

OD 

C! 
^. 

►J 


Social  and  Gaming  279 

in  a  rigid  manner.  For  some  reason,  probably 
because  he  could  not  boast  a  long  descent, 
Sheridan's  nomination  as  a  member  provoked 
his  opposition.  Fox,  who  had  been  enamoured 
of  Sheridan's  witty  society,  proposed  him  on 
numerous  occasions  and  all  the  members  were 
earnestly  canvassed  for  their  votes,  but  the 
result  of  the  poll  always  showed  one  black  ball. 
When  this  had  gone  on  for  several  months,  it 
was  resolved  to  unearth  the  black-baller,  and 
the  marking  of  the  balls  discovered  Selwyn  to 
be  the  culprit.  Armed  with  this  knowledge, 
Sheridan  requested  his  friends  to  put  his  name 
up  again  and  leave  the  rest  to  him.  On  the 
night  of  the  voting,  and  some  ten  minutes  be- 
fore the  urn  was  produced,  Sheridan  arrived 
at  the  club  in  the  company  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  on  the  two  being  shown  into  the 
candidates'  waiting-room  a  message  was  sent 
upstairs  to  Selwyn  to  the  effect  that  the  Prince 
wished  to  speak  to  him  below.  The  unsuspect- 
ing Selwyn  hurried  downstairs,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Sheridan  had  him  absorbed  in  a  di- 
verting political  story,  which  he  spun  out  for 
a  full  halfhour.  Ere  the  narrative  was  at  an 
end,  a  waiter  entered  the  room  and  by  a  pre- 
arranged signal  conveyed  the  news  that  Sheri- 
dan had  been  elected.    Excusing  himself  for  a 


280   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

few  minutes,  Sheridan  remarked  as  he  left  to 
go  upstairs  that  the  Prince  would  finish  the 
story.  But  of  course  the  Prince  was  not  equal 
to  the  occasion,  and  when  he  got  hopelessly 
stuck  he  proposed  an  adjournment  upstairs 
where  Sheridan  would  be  able  to  complete  his 
own  yarn.  It  was  then  Selwyn  realized  that 
he  had  been  fooled,  for  the  first  to  greet  him 
upstairs  was  Sheridan  himself,  now  a  full  mem- 
ber of  the  club,  with  profuse  bows  and  thanks 
for  Selwyn ^s  ''  friendly  suffrage.^'  Happily 
Selwyn  had  too  keen  a  sense  of  humour  not  to 
make  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  ere  the 
evening  was  over  he  shook  hands  with  the  new 
member  and  bade  him  heartily  welcome. 

Far  less  hilarious  was  that  evening  when  the 
notorious  George  Robert  Fitzgerald  forced  his 
way  into  the  club.  As  this  bravo  had  survived 
numerous  duels  —  owing  to  the  fact,  as  was 
stated  after  his  death,  that  he  wore  a  steel 
cuirass  under  his  coat  —  and  was  of  a  gen- 
erally quarrelsome  disposition,  he  was  not  re- 
garded as  a  desirable  member  by  any  of  the 
London  clubs.  But  he  had  a  special  desire  to 
belong  to  Brooks's,  and  requested  Admiral 
Keith  Stewart  to  propose  him  as  a  candidate. 
As  the  only  alternative  would  have  been  to 
fight   a   duel,   the   admiral   complied  with  the 


Social  and  Gaming  281 

request,  and  on  the  night  of  the  voting  Fitz- 
gerald waited  downstairs  till  the  result  was 
declared.  When  the  votes  were  examined  it 
was  discovered  that  every  member  had  cast  in 
a  black  ball.  But  who  was  to  beard  the  lion  in 
his  den  below!  The  members  agreed  that  the 
admiral  should  discharge  that  unpleasant  duty, 
and  on  his  protesting  that  he  had  fulfilled  his 
promise  by  proposing  him,  it  was  pointed  out, 
that  as  there  was  no  white  ball  in  the  box, 
Fitzgerald  would  know  that  even  he  had  not 
voted  for  his  admission.  Posed  for  a  moment 
the  admiral  at  length  suggested  that  one  of 
the  waiters  should  be  sent  to  say  that  there 
was  one  black  ball,  and  that  the  election  would 
have  to  be  postponed  for  another  month.  But 
Fitzgerald  would  not  credit  that  message,  nor 
a  second  which  told  him  a  recount  had  shown 
two  black  balls,  nor  a  third  which  said  that 
he  had  been  black  balled  all  over.  He  was  sure 
the  first  message  implied  a  single  mistake,  that 
the  second  had  been  the  result  of  two  mistakes 
instead  of  one,  and  the  third  convinced  him 
that  he  had  better  go  upstairs  and  investigate 
on  his  own  account.  This  he  did  in  spite  of 
all  remonstrance,  and  when  he  had  gained  the 
room  where  the  members  were  assembled  he 
reduced  the  whole  company  to  perplexity  by 


282  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

asking  each  in  turn  whether  he  had  cast  a  black 
ball.  Of  course  the  answer  was  in  the  negative 
in  every  case,  and  the  triumiDliant  bully  nat- 
urally claimed  that  he  had  consequently  been 
elected  unanimously.  Proceeding  to  make  him- 
self at  home,  and  to  order  numerous  bottles  of 
champagne,  which  the  waiters  were  too  fright- 
ened to  refuse,  he  soon  found  himself  sent  to 
Coventry  and  eventually  retired.  As  a  precau- 
tion against  a  repetition  of  that  night  it  was 
resolved  to  have  half  a  dozen  sturdy  constables 
in  waiting  on  the  following  evening.  But  their 
services  were  not  required.  Fighting  Fitz- 
gerald never  showed  himself  at  the  club  again, 
though  he  boasted  everywhere  that  he  had  been 
elected  unanimously. 

Perhaps  it  is  hardly  surprising  that  the  na- 
tional dish  of  England  was  laid  under  contri- 
bution for  the  name  of  a  club,  but  it  is  some- 
what confusing  to  find  that  in  addition  to  the 
Beef  Steak  Club  founded  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne  there  was  a  Beef  Steak  Society  of  which 
the  origin  is  somewhat  hazy.  The  former  so- 
ciety is  described  with  great  gusto  by  Ned 
Ward,  who  had  for  it  many  more  pleasant  ad- 
jectives than  he  could  find  for  the  Kit- Cat 
Club.  The  other  society  appears  to  have  owed 
its  existence  to  John  Rich,  of  Covent  G^arden 


Social  and  Gaming  283 

theatre,  and  the  scene-painter,  George  Lam- 
bert. For  some  unexplained  reason,  but  prob- 
ably because  of  its  bohemian  character,  the 
club  quickly  gained  many  distinguished  ad- 
herents, and  could  number  royal  scions  as  well 
as  plebeians  in  its  circle.  According  to  Henry 
B.  AYheatley,  the  '^  room  the  society  dined  in, 
a  little  Escurial  in  itself,  was  most  appropri- 
ately fitted  up:  the  doors,  wainscoting,  and 
roof  of  good  old  English  oak,  ornamented  with 
gridirons  as  thick  as  Henry  VII 's  Chapel  with 
the  portcullis  of  the  founder.  The  society's 
badge  was  a  gridiron,  which  was  engraved 
upon  the  rings,  glass,  and  the  forks  and  spoons. 
At  the  end  of  the  dining-room  was  an  enormous 
grating  in  the  form  of  a  gridiron,  through 
which  the  fire  was  seen  and  the  steaks  handed 
from  the  kitchen.  Over  this  were  the  appro- 
priate lines :  — 

"  ^  If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly.' 

Saturday  was  from  time  immemorial  the  day 
of  dining,  and  of  late  years  the  season  com- 
menced in  November  and  ended  in  June. ' '  The 
last  elected  member  of  the  fraternity  was 
known  as  Boots,  and,  no  matter  how  high  his 


284   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

social  rank,  there  were  certain  lowly  duties  he 
had  to  discharge  until  set  free  by  another  new- 
comer. There  was  another  officer  known  as 
the  Bishop,  whose  duty  it  was  to  sing  the  grace, 
and  to  read  to  each  new  member,  who  was 
brought  in  blindfolded,  the  following  oath  of 
allegiance:  ^'  You  shall  attend  duly,  vote  im- 
partially, and  conform  to  our  laws  and  orders 
obediently.  You  shall  support  our  dignity, 
promote  our  welfare,  and  at  all  times  behave 
as  a  worthy  member  of  this  sublime  society. 
So  Beef  and  Liberty  be  your  reward."  Al- 
though there  is  a  Beef  Steak  Club  in  existence 
to-day,  it  must  not  be  identified  with  either  of 
the  two  described  above. 

Another  St.  James's  Street  club  which  can 
date  back  to  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury is  that  known  as  Boodle's.  The  building 
was  erected  somewhere  about  1765,  but  has 
been  materially  improved  in  more  recent  years. 
Presumably  it  takes  its  singular  and  not  eupho- 
nious name  from  its  founder,  but  on  that  point 
no  definite  information  is  forthcoming.  Prac- 
tically its  only  claim  to  distinction  resides  in 
the  fact  that  Gibbon,  who  was  almost  as  fond 
of  clubs  as  Pepys  was  of  taverns,  was  a  mem- 
ber, as  readers  of  his  correspondence  will  rec- 
ollect.   In  1773  and  the  following  year  the  great 


Social  and  Gaming  285 


historian  appears  to  liave  used  tlie  club  as  liis 
writing-room,  for  many  of  liis  letters  of  those 
years  are  on  Boodle's  note-paper.    One  of  the 
epistles  recalls  the  fact  that  the  clubs  of  Lon- 
don were  wont  to  hold  their  great  functions, 
such  as  balls  or  masquerades,  at  the  Pantheon 
in  Oxford  Street,  erected  as  a  kind  of  in-town 
rival  to  Ranelagh.    It  was  opened  in  1772,  and 
on  the  fourth  of  May  two  years  later  Gibbon 
wrote:   "  Last  night  was  the  triumph  of  Boo- 
dle's      Our    masquerade    cost    two    thousand 
guineas;    a  sum  that  might  have  fertilized  a 
province,  vanished  in  a  few  hours,  but  not 
without  leaving  behind  it  the  fame  of  the  most 
splendid  and  elegant  fete  that  was  perhaps  ever 
given  in  a  seat  of  the  arts  and  opulence.    It 
would  be  as  difficult  to  describe  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  scene,  as  it  would  be  easy  to  record 
the  humour  of  the  night.    The  one  was  above, 
the  other  below,  all  relation.    I  left  the  Pan- 
theon about  five  this  morning."    Gibbon  does 
not  note  that  two  "  gentlemen,"  commg  from 
that  masquerade   dressed  in   their   costumes, 
"  used  a  woman  very  indecently,"  and  were  so 
mauled  by  some  spectators  that  they  had  dif- 
ficulty in  escaping  with  their  lives.    It  is  to  be 
hoped  they  were  not  members  of  Boodle's,  who, 
on  the  whole,  appear  to  have  been  somewhat 


286  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

inoffensive  persons.  At  any  rate  they  allowed 
Gibbon  ample  quietude  for  his  letter-wri- 
ting. 

Two  other  clubs  of  some  note  in  their  day  are 
now  nothing  but  a  memory.  The  first  of  these, 
the  Dover  House,  was  formed  by  George  IV 
when  Prince  of  Wales  in  opposition  to  Brooks's, 
where  two  of  his  friends  had  been  black-balled. 
He  placed  it  in  the  care  of  one  Weltzie,  who 
had  been  his  house  steward,  and  for  a  time  it 
threatened  to  become  a  serious  rival  to  the 
other  establishments  in  St.  James's  Street. 
There  is  Selwyn's  confession  that  the  club  be- 
gan to  alarm  the  devotees  of  Brooks's,  for  it 
lived  well,  increased  in  numbers,  and  was  chary 
in  the  choice  of  members.  That,  surely,  was 
the  club  of  which  Selwyn  tells  this  vivid  story. 
*'  The  Diike  of  Cumberland  holds  a  Pliaraoh 
Bank,  deals  standing  the  whole  night ;  and  last 
week,  when  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  sat  down 
to  play,  he  told  him  there  were  two  rules ;  one 
was,  ^  not  to  let  you  punt  more  than  ten 
guineas;  '  and  the  other,  *  no  tick.'  Did  you 
ever  hear  a  more  princely  declaration?  Derby 
lost  the  gold  in  his  pocket,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  lent  him  fifty  g-uineas;  on  which  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland  expressed  some  surprise, 
and  said  he  had  never  lent  fifty  pounds  in  his 


Social  and  Gaming  287 

whole  life.  *  Then,'  says  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
*  it  is  high  time  for  you  to  begin/  '^ 

Notwithstanding  the  promise  it  gave,  Welt- 
zie's  club  does  not  seem  to  have  had  a  pro- 
tracted history.  Nor  did  the  Alfred  Club  sur- 
vive a  half  century.  It  was  one  of  the  earliest 
clubs  to  cater  for  a  distinct  class,  and  may  have 
failed  because  it  was  born  out  of  due  time. 
This  resort  for  men  of  letters,  and  members  of 
kindred  taste,  does  not  appear  to  have  been  a 
lively  place  in  its  first  years,  for  at  that  time 
Lord  Dudley  described  it  as  the  dullest  place  in 
the  world,  full  of  bores,  an  **  asylum  of  doting 
Tories  and  drivelling  quidnuncs.''  Nor  was 
Byron,  another  member,  much  more  compli- 
mentary. His  most  favourable  verdict  pro- 
nounced the  place  a  little  too  sober  and  literary, 
while  later  he  thought  it  the  most  tiresome  of 
London  clubs.  Then  there  is  the  testimony  of 
another  member  who  said  he  stood  it  as  long  as 
he  could,  but  gave  in  when  the  seventeenth 
bishop  was  proposed,  for  it  was  impossible  to 
enter  the  place  without  being  reminded  of  the 
catechism. 

Because  Arthur's  Club  is  described  as  hav- 
ing been  founded  in  1811  that  is  no  reason  for 
overlooking  the  fact  that  its  age  is  much  more 
venerable  than  that  date  would  imply.     The 


288  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


word  '^  founded  ''  is  indeed  misleading;  a 
more  suitable  term  would  be  ^'  reconstructed.'' 
For  that  is  what  happened  in  1811.  The  club 
can  really  trace  an  ancestry  back  to  1756,  when 
it  was  the  ''  Young  Club  "  at  Arthur's,  the 
freedom  of  which  Selwyn  desired  to  present  in 
a  dice  box  to  William  Pitt.  That  the  club  has 
maintained  the  old-time  spirit  to  a  remarkable 
degree  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  no 
foreigners  are  admitted  as  members,  and  from 
the  further  regulation  which  does  not  allow  a 
member  to  entertain  a  friend  at  the  club. 
There  is  a  ^^  Strangers'  room  "  in  which  vis- 
itors may  wait  for  members,  and  where  they 
may  be  served  with  light  refreshments  as  a 
matter  of  courtesy,  but  none  save  members  are 
allowed  in  the  public  rooms  of  the  building. 
This  rigid  exclusiveness  has  not  militated 
against  the  prosperity  of  the  club.  Despite  a 
high  entrance  fee  and  a  considerable  annual 
subscription,  candidates  have  to  wait  an  av- 
erage of  three  years  for  election  to  its  limited 
circle  of  six  hundred.  Which  goes  to  show  that 
the  old  type  of  London  club  is  in  no  danger  of 
extinction  just  yet. 


IV 

PLEASURE  GARDENS  OF  OLD  LONDON 


289 


CHAPTER  I 

VAUXHALL 

Numerous  and  diversified  as  were  the  out- 
door resorts  of  old  London,  no  one  of  them 
ever  enjoyed  the  patronage  of  the  gardens  at 
Vauxhall.  Nor  can  any  pleasure  resort  of  the 
English  capital  boast  so  long  a  history.  For 
nearly  two  centuries,  that  is,  from  about  1661 
to  1859,  it  ministered  to  the  amusement  of  the 
citizens. 

At  the  outset  of  its  career  it  was  known  as 
New  Spring  Gardens,  and  it  continued  to  be 
described  as  Spring  Gardens  in  the  official  an- 
nouncements till  1786,  although  for  many  years 
previously  the  popular  designation  was  Vaux- 
hall. The  origin  of  that  name  is  involved  in 
obscurity,  but  it  is  supposed  to  have  been  de- 
rived from  a  family  of  the  name  of  Faux  who 
once  held  the  manor. 

For  the  earliest  pictures  of  the  resort  we 
must  turn  to  the  pages  of  Pepys,  whose  first 
visit  to  the  gardens  was  paid  in  May,  1662. 
On  this  occasion  he  was  accompanied  by  his 

291 


292   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

wife,  the  two  maids,  and  the  boy,  the  latter  dis- 
tinguishing himself  by  creeping  through  the 
hedges  and  gathering  roses.  Three  years  later 
Pepys  went  to  the  gardens  on  several  occasions 
within  a  few  weeks  of  each  other,  the  first  visit 
being  made  in  the  company  of  several  Admi- 
ralty friends,  who,  with  himself,  were  ill  at  ease 
as  to  what  had  been  the  result  of  the  meeting 
between  the  English  and  Dutch  fleets.  Still, 
on  this,  the  ^*  hottest  day  that  ever  I  felt  in 
my  life,'^  Pepys  did  not  fail  to  find  enjoyment 
in  walking  about  the  garden,  and  stayed  there 
till  nine  o'clock  for  a  moderate  expenditure  of 
sixpence.  Not  many  days  later  he  was  back 
again,  this  time  alone  and  in  a  philosophic 
mood.  The  English  fleet  had  been  victorious, 
and  the  day  was  one  of  thanksgiving.  So  the 
diarist  strolled  an  hour  in  the  garden  observing 
the  behaviour  of  the  citizens,  '  ^  pulling  of  cher- 
ries, and  God  knows  what.''  Quite  a  different 
scene  met  his  gaze  on  his  third  visit  that  year ; 
the  place  was  almost  deserted,  for  the  dreaded 
plague  had  broken  out  and  London  was  empty. 
Then  came  the  year  of  the  Great  Fire,  and 
Pepys  was  in  too  serious  a  mood  to  wend  his 
way  to  Vauxhall.  But  he  had  recovered  his 
spirits  by  the  May  of  1667,  and  gives  us  this 
record  of  a  visit  of  that  month :  ^ '  A  great  deal 


Vauxhall  293 


of  company,  and  the  weather  and  garden  pleas- 
ant: and  it  is  very  pleasant  and  cheap  going 
thither,  for  a  man  may  go  to  spend  what  he 
will,  or  nothing,  all  as  one.  But  to  hear  the 
nightingale  and  other  birds,  and  hear  fiddles, 
and  there  a  harp,  and  here  a  Jew's  trump,  and 
here  laughing,  and  there  fine  people  walking, 
is  mighty  divertising.  Among  others,  there 
were  two  pretty  women  alone,  that  walked  a 
great  while,  which  being  discovered  by  some 
idle  gentlemen,  they  would  needs  take  them  up ; 
but  to  see  the  poor  ladies  how  they  were  put  to 
it  to  run  from  them,  and  they  after  them,  and 
sometimes  the  ladies  put  themselves  along  with 
other  company,  then  the  other  drew  back;  at 
last,  the  last  did  get  off  out  of  the  house,  and 
took  boat  and  away.  I  was  troubled  to  see 
them  abused  so;  and  could  have  found  in  my 
heart,  as  little  desire  of  fighting  as  I  have,  to 
have  protected  the  ladies.''  But  a  time  was 
to  come,  on  a  later  visit,  when  Pepys  found 
himself  in  the  company  of  a  couple  who  were 
just  as  rude  as  the  gentlemen  he  had  a  mind 
to  fight.  For  on  a  May  evening  the  next  year 
he  fell  in  with  Harry  Killigrew  and  young  New- 
port, as  *^  very  rogues  as  any  in  the  town," 
who  were  ^^  ready  to  take  hold  of  every  woman 
that  comes  by  them. ' '    Yet  Pepys  did  not  shake 


294   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

their  company;  instead  he  went  with  the 
rogues  to  supper  in  an  arbour,  though  it  made 
his  heart  '^  ake  '^  to  listen  to  their  mad  talk. 
Wlien  sitting  down  to  his  diary  that  night  he 
reflected  on  the  loose  company  he  had  been  in, 
but  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  not 
wholly  unprofitable  to  have  such  experience  of 
the  lives  of  others.  Perhaps  he  really  enjoyed 
the  experience ;  at  any  rate,  he  was  back  again 
the  following  evening,  and  saw  the  young  New- 
port at  his  tricks  again.  Nor  was  that  rogue 
singular  in  his  behaviour.  Pepys  had  other 
illustrations  on  subsequent  visits  of  the  rude- 
ness which  had  become  a  habit  with  the  gallants 
of  the  town. 

By  the  numerous  references  which  may  be 
found  in  the  comedies  of  the  Kestoration  period 
it  is  too  obvious  that  Vauxliall  fully  sustained 
its  reputation  as  a  resort  for  the  ^^  rogues  *' 
of  the  town.  But,  happily,  there  are  not  lack- 
ing many  proofs  that  the  resort  was  also 
largely  affected  by  more  serious-minded  and 
respectable  members  of  the  community.  It  is 
true  they  were  never  free  from  the  danger  of 
coming  in  contact  with  the  seamy  side  of  Lon- 
don life,  but  that  fact  did  not  deter  them  from 
seeking  relaxation  in  so  desirable  a  spot.  There 
is  a  characteristic  illustration  of  this  blending 


Vauxhall  295 


of  amusement  and  annoyance  in  that  classical 
number  of  the  Spectator  wherein  Addison  de- 
scribed his  visit  to  the  garden  with  his  famous 
friend  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  As  was  usual 
in  the  early  days  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
for  some  years  later,  the  two  approached  the 
garden  by  water.  They  took  boat  on  the 
Thames  at  Temple-stairs,  and  soon  arrived  at 
the  landing-place.  It  was  in  the  awakening 
month  of  May,  when  the  garden  was  in  the  first 
blush  of  its  springtime  beauty.  ''  When  I  con- 
sidered,'' Addison  wrote,  ^'  the  fragrancy  of 
the  walks  and  bowers,  with  the  choirs  of  birds 
that  sung  upon  the  trees,  and  the  loose  tribe 
of  people  that  walked  under  their  shades,  I 
could  not  but  look  upon  the  place  as  a  kind  of 
Mahometan  paradise.  Sir  Roger  told  me  it 
put  him  in  mind  of  a  little  coppice  by  his  house 
in  the  country,  which  his  chaplain  used  to  call 
an  aviary  of  nightingales.  '  You  must  under- 
stand, '  said  the  knight,  '  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  that  pleases  a  man  in  love  so  much  as 
your  nightingale.  Ah,  Mr.  Spectator,  the  many 
moon-light  nights  that  I  have  walked  by  my- 
self, and  thought  on  the  widow  by  the  music 
of  the  nightingale !  '  He  here  fetched  a  deep 
sigh.''  But  the  worthy  old  man's  fit  of  musing 
was  abruptly  broken  by  too  tangible  a  reminder 


296  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

that  this  was  indeed  a  kind  of  Mahometan  para- 
dise. 

Up  to  1732  Vauxhall  appears  to  have  been 
conducted  in  a  haphazard  way.  That  is,  no 
settled  policy  had  been  followed  in  its  manage- 
ment or  the  provision  of  set  attractions.  The 
owner  seems  to  have  depended  too  much  on  the 
nightingales,  and  the  natural  beauties  of  the 
place.  From  the  date  mentioned,  however,  a 
new  regime  began.  At  that  time  the  garden 
passed  into  the  control  of  Jonathan  Tyers,  who 
introduced  many  alterations  and  improve- 
ments. A  regular  charge  was  now  made  for 
admission,  and  season  tickets  in  the  shape  of 
silver  medals  were  instituted.  Several  of  these 
were  designed  by  Hogarth,  in  recognition  of 
whose  services  in  that  and  other  ways  Mr. 
Tyers  presented  him  with  a  gold  ticket  entitling 
him  to  admission  for  ever.  Among  the  im- 
provements dating  from  this  new  ownership 
was  adequate  provision  of  music.  An  orches- 
tra was  erected,  and  in  addition  to  instrumental 
music  many  of  the  most  famous  singers  of  the 
day  were  engaged.  The  innovations  of  Mr. 
Tyers  have  left  their  impress  on  the  literature 
of  the  place  in  prose  and  verse.  A  somewhat 
cloying  example  of  the  latter  is  found  in  an 


1        1     •>',■>      1        11 


1        ^     ,  ' 


1       1    >        ■>■>-)'   1 


TICKETS    FOR    VAUXHALL, 


^  '   t 

t  o    c  "^ 


r  e  r 


0 
<  c 


0    • 


Vauxhall  297 


effusion  describing  the  visit  of  Farmer  Colin 
in  1741 : 

"  Oh,  Mary !  soft  in  feature, 
I've  been  at  dear  Vauxhall; 
No  paradise  is  sweeter. 
Not  that  they  Eden  call. 

"Methought,  when  first  I  entered. 
Such  splendours  round  me  shone, 
Into  a  world  I  ventured, 
Wliere  rose  another  sun: 

"  While  music,  never  cloying. 
As  skylarks  sweet,  I  hear : 
The  sounds  I'm  still  enjoying. 
They'll  always  soothe  my  ear." 

Ten  years  later  Mr.  Tyers  was  paid  a  more 
eloquent  tribute  by  the  pen  of  Fielding.  Per- 
haps he  took  his  beloved  Amelia  to  Vauxhall 
for  the  purpose  of  heightening  his  readers' 
impression  of  her  beauty,  for  it  will  be  remem- 
bered that  she  was  greatly  distressed  by  the 
admiration  of  some  of  the  ''  rogues  ''  of  the 
place;  but  incidentally  he  has  a  word  of  high 
praise  for  the  owner  of  the  garden.  ''  To  de- 
lineate the  particular  beauties  of  these  gardens 
would,  indeed,''  the  novelist  writes,  ''  require 


298   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


as  much  pains,  and  as  much  paper  too,  as  to 
rehearse  all  the  good  actions  of  their  master, 
whose  life  proves  the  truth  of  an  observation 
which  I  have  read  in  some  ethic  writer,  that  a 
truly  elegant  taste  is  generally  accompanied 
with  an  excellency  of  heart/'  But  Fielding 
does  not  quite  dodge  his  responsibility  to  say 
something  of  the  place  itself,  only  he  is  adroit 
enough  to  accentuate  his  words  by  placing  them 
in  the  mouth  of  the  fair  Amelia.  '^  The  deli- 
cious sweetness  of  the  place,"  was  her  verdict, 
^'  the  enchanting  charms  of  the  music,  and  the 
satisfaction  which  appears  on  every  one's 
countenance,  carried  my  soul  almost  to  heaven 
in  its  ideas."  That  her  rapture  should  have 
been  spoilt  by  the  impertinents  who  forced 
themselves  on  the  little  party  later,  is  a  proof 
that  the  evils  which  Pepys  lamented  were  still 
in  evidence  at  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. 

And  another  proof  may  be  cited  to  show  that 
Vauxhall  was  at  the  time  in  high  favour  with 
the  smart  set.  It  occurs  in  a  letter  to  Lord 
Carlisle  of  July,  1745.  The  correspondent  of 
the  peer  thinks  he  will  be  interested  in  a  piece 
of  news  from  Vauxhall.  One  of  the  boxes  in 
the  garden  was,  he  said,  painted  with  a  scene 
depicting  a  gentleman  far  gone  in  his  cups,  in 


Vauxhall  299 


the  company  of  two  ladies  of  pleasure,  and  his 
hat  lying  on  the  ground  beside  him.  This  ap- 
pealed so  strongly  to  a  certain  marquis  as 
typical  of  his  own  tastes  that  he  appropriated 
the  box  for  his  own  use,  stipulating,  however, 
that  a  marquis's  coronet  be  painted  over  the 
hat.  Notwithstanding  the  high  character  at- 
tributed to  him  by  Fielding,  Mr.  Tyers  agreed 
to  the  proposal,  and  the  waiters  were  given 
authority  to  instruct  any  company  that  might 
enter  that  box  that  it  belonged  to  the  marquis 
in  question,  and  must  be  vacated  if  he  came  on 
the  scene. 

Although  changes  were  made  from  time  to 
time,  the  general  arrangement  of  Vauxhall  re- 
mained as  it  existed  at  the  height  of  Mr.  Tyers' 
tenancy.  The  place  extended  to  about  twelve 
acres,  laid  out  in  formal  walks  but  richly 
wooded.  The  principal  entrance  led  into  what 
was  known  as  the  Grand  Walk,  a  tree-lined 
promenade  some  three  hundred  yards  in  length, 
and  having  the  South  Walk  parallel.  The  lat- 
ter, however,  was  distinguished  by  its  three 
triumphal  arches  and  its  terminal  painting  of 
the  ruins  of  Palmyra.  Intersecting  these  ave- 
nues was  the  G-rand  Cross  Walk,  which  trav- 
ersed the  garden  from  north  to  south.  In  addi- 
tion    there     were     those     numerous     ^^  Dark 


300   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

Walks  '^  which  make  so  frequent  an  appear- 
ance in  the  literature  of  the  place.  Other  parts 
of  the  garden  were  known  as  the  Rural  Downs, 
the  Musical  Bushes,  and  the  Wilderness.  In 
the  farthest  removed  of  these  the  nightingales 
and  other  birds  for  which  Vauxhall  was  famous 
contributed  their  quota  to  the  attractions  of 
the  place. 

In  addition  to  the  supper-boxes  and  pavil- 
ions, which  were  arranged  in  long  rows  or  in 
curving  fashion,  the  buildings  consisted  of  the 
orchestra  and  the  Rotunda,  the  latter  being  a 
circular  building  seventy  feet  in  diameter.  It 
was  fitted  up  in  a  style  thought  attractive  in 
those  days,  was  provided  with  an  orchestra 
where  the  band  played  on  wet  evenings,  and 
was  connected  with  a  long  gallery  known  as 
the  Picture  Room.  The  amusements  provided 
by  the  management  varied  considerably.  Even 
at  their  best,  however,  they  would  be  voted 
tame  by  amusement-seekers  of  the  twentieth 
century.  Fireworks  took  their  place  on  the 
programme  in  1798,  and  nearly  twenty  years 
later  what  was  deemed  a  phenomenal  attrac- 
tion was  introduced  in  the  person  of  Mme. 
Saqui  of  Paris,  who  used  to  climb  a  long  rope 
leading  to  the  firework  platform,  whence  she 
descended  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  **  tempest 


*     i   ^  J      ■) 


)  )    )    1 


3     ■> 


3 


.I      •>       ->    ,■> 


Vauxhall  801 


of  fireworks.'*  One  of  the  earliest  and  most 
popular  attractions  was  that  known  as  the  Cas- 
■cade,  which  was  disclosed  to  view  about  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  It  was  a  landscape 
scene  illuminated  by  hidden  lights,  the  central 
feature  of  which  was  a  miller's  house  and 
waterfall  having  the  '^  exact  appearance  of 
water."  More  daring  efforts  were  to  come 
later,  such  as  the  allegorical  transparency  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales  leaning  against  a  horse 
held  by  Britannia,  a  Submarine  Cavern,  a 
Hermit's  Cottage,  and  balloon  ascents.  The 
most  glorious  of  these  attractions  presented 
a  sordid  sight  by  daylight,  but  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  countless  lamps  hung  in  the  trees  at 
night  passed  muster  with  the  most  critical. 

Enough  evidence  has  been  produced  to  show 
how  the  ^*  rogues  "  amused  themselves  at 
Vauxhall,  but  the  milder  pleasures  of  sober 
citizens  have  not  been  so  fully  illustrated.  Yet 
there  is  no  lack  of  information  on  that  score. 
There  is,  for  example,  that  lively  paper  in  the 
Connoisseur  which  gives  an  eavesdropping  re- 
port of  the  behaviour  and  conversation  of  a 
London  merchant  and  his  wife  and  two  daugh- 
ters. The  Connoisseur  took  notes  from  the  ad- 
joining box. 

V*  After  some  talk,  '  Come,  come,'  said  the 


302   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

old  don,  ^  it  is  liigli  time,  I  tliink,  to  go  to  sup- 
per.' 

^'  To  tliis  the  ladies  readily  assented;  and 
one  of  the  misses  said,  ^  Do  let  us  have  a  chick, 
papa.' 

'  ^  '  Zounds !  '  said  the  father,  *  they  are  half- 
a-crown  a-piece,  and  no  bigger  than  a  sparrow. ' 

*^  Here  the  old  lady  took  him  up,  ^  You  are  so 
stingy,  Mr.  Rose,  there  is  no  bearing  with  you. 
When  one  is  out  upon  pleasure,  I  love  to  appear 
like  somebody:  and  what  signifies  a  few  shill- 
ings once  and  away,  when  a  body  is  about  it?  ' 

'*  This  reproof  so  effectually  silenced  the  old 
gentleman,  that  the  youngest  miss  had  the  cour- 
age to  put  in  a  word  for  some  ham  likewise: 
accordingly  the  waiter  was  called,  and  dis- 
patched by  the  old  lady  with  an  order  for  a 
chicken  and  a  plate  of  ham.  "When  it  was 
brought,  our  honest  cit  twirled  the  dish  about 
three  or  four  times,  and  surveyed  it  with  a  very 
settled  countenance;  then  taking  up  the  shce 
of  ham,  and  dangling  it  to  and  fro  on  the  end 
of  his  fork,  asked  the  waiter  how  much  there 
was  of  it. 

*^  ^  A  shilling's  worth.  Sir,'  said  the  fellow. 

*^  '  Prithee,'  said  the  don,  ^  how  much  dost 
think  it  weighs?  An  ounce?  A  shilling  an 
ounce!    that  is   sixteen   shillings   per  pound  I 


1       1 


1         1 


a--iLi;;.iAiJ'iAi»f'i.'i  iJi 


5      1     )  J 


THE    CITIZEN    AT   VAUXHALL. 


e    e 
c  < 
f 


'^  t   ^     r   ^ 

t      f     ^     r 


ft  c 

c     t  c      c 

c    «  p  c  e  r 


Vauxhall  303 


A  reasonable  profit  truly!  Let  me  see,  sup- 
pose now  the  whole  ham  weighs  thirty  pounds ; 
at  a  shilling  per  ounce,  that  is,  sixteen  shillings 
per  pound,  why!  your  master  makes  exactly 
twenty-four  pounds  of  every  ham;  and  if  he 
buys  them  at  the  best  hand,  and  salts  and  cures 
them  himself,  they  don't  stand  him  in  ten  shill- 
ings a-piece.' 

^^  The  old  lady  bade  him  hold  his  nonsense, 
declared  herself  ashamed  for  him,  and  asked 
him  if  people  must  not  live :  then  taking  a  col- 
oured handkerchief  from  her  own  neck,  she 
tucked  it  into  his  shirt-collar  (whence  it  hung 
like  a  bib),  and  helped  him  to  a  leg  of  the 
chicken.  The  old  gentleman,  at  every  bit  he 
put  into  his  mouth,  amused  himself  with  saying, 
*  There  goes  two-pence,  there  goes  three-pence, 
there  goes  a  groat.  Zounds,  a  man  at  these 
places  should  not  have  a  swallow  as  wide  as  a 
tom-tit.'  '' 

But  having  been  launched  on  a  career  of  tem- 
porary extravagance,  the  honest  citizen  grew 
reckless.  So  he  called  for  a  bottle  of  port,  and 
enjoyed  it  so  much  as  to  call  for  a  second.  But 
the  bill  brought  him  to  his  senses  again,  and 
he  left  Vauxhall  with  the  conviction  that  one 
visit  was  enough  for  a  lifetime. 

So  long  as  Vauxhall  existed  the  thinness  and 


304   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

dearness  of  its  plates  of  ham  were  proverbial. 
There  is  a  legend  to  the  effect  that  a  man  se- 
cured the  position  of  carver  on  the  understand- 
ing that  he  was  able  to  cut  a  ham  so  thin  that 
the  slices  would  cover  the  entire  garden. 
Writer  after  writer  taxed  his  ingenuity  to  find 
metaphors  applicable  to  those  shadowy  slices. 
One  scribe  in  1762  declared  that  a  newspaper 
could  be  read  through  them;  Pierce  Egan  de- 
cided that  they  were  not  cut  with  a  knife  but 
shaved  off  with  a  plane;  and  a  third  averred 
that  they  tasted  more  of  the  knife  than  any- 
thing else. 

Of  course  Goldsmith  made  his  philosophical 
Chinaman  visit  Vauxhall,  the  other  members 
of  the  party  consisting  of  the  man  in  black,  a 
pawnbroker's  widow,  and  Mr.  Tibbs,  the  sec- 
ond-rate beau,  and  his  wife.  The  Chinaman 
was  delighted,  and,  by  a  strange  coincidence, 
Addison's  metaphor  crops  up  once  more  in 
his  rapturous  description.  ^*  The  illuminations 
began  before  we  arrived,  and  I  must  confess 
that,  upon  entering  the  gardens,  I  found  every 
sense  overpaid  with  more  than  expected  pleas- 
ure; the  lights  everywhere  glimmering  through 
the  scarcely  moving  trees ;  the  full-bodied  con- 
cert bursting  on  the  stillness  of  the  night;  the 
natural  concert  of  the  birds,  in  the  more  retired 


Vauxhall  305 


part  of  the  grove,  vying  with  that  which  was 
formed  by  art;  the  company  gaily-dressed 
looking  satisfaction,  and  the  tables  spread  with 
various  delicacies,  all  conspired  to  fill  my  imag- 
ination with  the  visionary  happiness  of  the 
Arabian  lawgiver,  and  lifted  me  into  an  ecstasy 
of  admiration.  *  Head  of  Confucius,'  cried  I 
to  my  friend,  ^  this  is  fine!  this  unites  rural 
beauty  with  courtly  magnificence :  if  we  except 
the  virgins  of  immortality  that  hang  on  every 
tree,  and  may  be  plucked  at  every  desire,  I  do 
not  see  how  this  falls  short  of  Mahomet's  para- 
dise!"' 

But  the  Celestial  rhapsody  was  interrupted 
by  Mr.  Tibbs,  who  wanted  to  know  the  plan  of 
campaign  for  the  evening.  This  was  a  matter 
on  which  Mrs.  Tibbs  and  the  widow  could  not 
agree,  but  an  adjournment  to  a  box  in  the  mean- 
time was  accepted  as  a  compromise.  Even 
there,  however,  the  feminine  warfare  was  con- 
tinued, to  the  final  triumph  of  Mrs.  Tibbs,  who, 
being  prevailed  upon  to  sing,  not  only  dis- 
tracted the  nerves  of  her  listeners,  but  pro- 
longed her  melody  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
widow  was  robbed  of  a  sight  of  the  water- 
works. 

No  account  of  Vauxhall  however  brief  should 
overlook  the  attractions  the  place  had  to  the 


306   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

sentimental  young  lady  of  the  late  eighteenth 
century.  From  the  character  of  the  songs 
which  the  vocalists  affected  it  might  be  inferred 
that  love-lorn  misses  were  expected  to  form  the 
bulk  of  their  audience.  Perhaps  that  was  so; 
for  the  Dark  Walks  were  ideal  places  in  which 
to  indulge  the  tender  sentiment.  The  elder 
daughter  of  the  Connoisseur's  citizen  confessed 
a  preference  for  those  walks  because  ^^  they 
were  so  solentary/'  and  Tom  Brown  noted  that 
the  ladies  who  had  an  inclination  to  be  private 
took  delight  in  those  retired  and  shady  avenues, 
and  in  the  windings  and  turnings  of  the  little 
Wilderness,  where  both  sexes  met  and  were  of 
mutual  assistance  in  losing  their  way. 

Smollett,  however,  made  his  impressionable 
Lydia  Melford  sum  up  the  attractions  of  Yaux- 
hall  for  the  young  lady  of  the  period.  It  is  a 
tender  picture  she  draws,  with  the  wherry  in 
which  she  made  her  journey,  *^  so  light  and 
slender  that  we  looked  like  so  many  fairies  sail- 
ing in  a  nutshell."  There  was  a  rude  awaken- 
ing at  the  landing-place,  where  the  rough  and 
ready  hangers-on  of  the  place  rushed  into  the 
water  to  drag  the  boat  ashore;  but  that  mo- 
mentary disturbance  was  forgotten  when  Miss 
Lydia  entered  the  resort. 

**  Imagine  to  yourself,  my  dear  Letty,"  she 


Vauxhall  307 


wrote,  *  ^  a  spacious  garden,  part  laid  out  in  de- 
lightful walks,  bounded  with  high  hedges  and 
trees,  and  paved  with  "gravel;  part  exhibiting 
a  wonderful  assemblage  of  the  most  picturesque 
and  striking  objects,  pavilions,  lodges,  groves, 
grottos,  lawns,  temples,  and  cascades ;  porticos, 
colonnades,  and  rotundas ;  adorned  with  pillars, 
statues,  and  paintings;  the  whole  illuminated 
with  an  infinite  number  of  lamps,  disposed  in 
different  figures  of  suns,  stars,  and  constella- 
tions ;  the  place  crowded  with  the  gayest  com- 
pany, ranging  through  those  blissful  shades, 
or  supping  in  different  lodges,  on  cold  colla- 
tions, enlivened  with  mirth,  freedom,  and  good 
humour.''  Lydia  has  a  word,  too,  for  the  mu- 
sical charms  of  the  place,  and  seems  pleased  to 
have  heard  a  celebrated  vocalist  despite  the 
fact  that  her  singing  made  her  head  ache 
through  excess  of  pleasure.  All  this  was  en- 
hanced, no  doubt,  by  the  presence  of  that  Mr. 
Barton,  the  country  gentleman  of  good  for- 
tune, who  was  so  *^  particular  ''  in  his  atten- 
tions. 

Perhaps  the  best  proof  of  the  place  Vauxhall 
occupied  in  popular  esteem  is  afforded  by  the 
number  of  occasions  on  which  the  garden  was 
chosen  as  the  scene  of  a  national  event.  This 
was  notably  the  case  in  1813,  when  a  preten- 


308   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

tious  festival  took  place  in  the  grounds  in  cele- 
bration of  the  victory  achieved  at  Vittoria  by 
the  Allies  under  Wellington.  An  elaborate 
scheme  of  decoration,  both  interior  and  exte- 
rior, was  a  striking  feature  of  the  occasion, 
while  to  accommodate  the  numerous  dinner 
guests  a  large  temporary  saloon  became  neces- 
sary. This  was  constructed  among  the  trees, 
the  trunks  of  which  were  adorned  with  the  flags 
of  the  Allies  and  other  trophies.  The  Duke  of 
York  presided  over  the  banquet,  and  the  com- 
pany included,  in  addition  to  Wellington,  most 
of  the  royal  and  other  notables  of  the  day. 
Dinner,  whereat  the  inevitable  ham  appeared 
but  probably  not  so  finely  cut,  lasted  from  ^ve 
to  nearly  nine  o  'clock,  at  which  hour  the  ladies 
and  general  guests  of  the  evening  began  to 
arrive.  Vauxhall  outdid  itself  in  illuminations 
that  night.  And  the  extra  attractions  included 
a  transparency  of  the  King,  a  mammoth  pic- 
ture of  Wellington,  a  supply  of  rockets  that 
rose  to  a  **  superior  height,''  and  innumerable 
bands,  some  of  which  discoursed  music  from 
the  forest  part  of  the  garden,  presenting  some 
idea  of  '^  soldiers  in  a  campaign  regaling  and 
reposing  themselves  under  the  shade."  In  fact, 
the  whole  occasion  was  so  unusual  that  the 
electrified  reporter  of  the  Annual  Register  was 


*  '-•     1      >« 


< 

X 

< 

> 

O 
02 


Vauxhall  309 


at  his  wit's  end  to  know  what  to  praise  most. 
For  a  moment  he  was  overpowered  by  the  ex- 
alted rank  of  the  leading  personages,  and  then 
fascinated  by  the  charms  and  costumes  of  the 
ladies,  only  to  find  fresh  subjects  for  further 
adjectives  in  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  the 
blaze  of  lights  that  seemed  to  create  an  arti- 
ficial day,  and  the  unity  of  sentiment  and  dis- 
position that  pervaded  all  alike. 

At  this  date,  of  course,  the  Tyers  of  Field- 
ing's eulogy  had  been  dead  some  years.  He 
was  succeeded  by  his  two  sons,  one  of  whom, 
Tom,  was  a  favourite  with  Dr.  Johnson.  At 
the  Vittoria  fete  the  resort  was  still  controlled 
by  the  Tyers  family,  but  it  passed  out  of  their 
possession  in  1821,  and  had  many  owners  be- 
fore the  end  came  in  1859. 

Another  Amelia,  however,  was  to  visit  Vaux- 
hall before  its  gates  were  closed  for  the  last 
time,  —  the  Amelia  beloved  of  all  readers  of 
*'  Vanity  Fair."  Naturally,  she  does  not  go 
alone.  Thackeray  had  too  much  affection  for 
that  gentle  creature  to  make  her  face  such  an 
ordeal.  No,  there  was  the  careless,  high- 
spirited  George  Osborne,  and  the  ever-faithful 
Dobbin,  and  the  slow-witted  Jos  Sedley,  and 
the  scheming  Rebecca  Sharp.  That  Vauxhall 
episode  was  to  play  a  pregnant  part  in  the 


310   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

destiny  of  Becky.  Such  an  auspicious  occasion 
would  surely  lead  to  a  proposal  from  the 
nearly-captured  Jos.  For  a  time  it  seemed  as 
though  such  might  be  the  case.  Becky  and  her 
corpulent  knight  lost  themselves  in  one  of  those 
famous  Dark  Walks,  and  the  situation  began 
to  develop  in  tenderness  and  sentiment.  Jos 
was  so  elated  that  he  told  Becky  his  favourite 
Indian  stories  for  the  sixth  time,  giving  an 
opening  for  the  lady's  *^  How  I  should  like  to 
see  India!  "  But  at  that  critical  moment  the 
bell  rang  for  the  fireworks,  and  at  the  same 
time  tolled  the  knell  of  Becky's  chances  of  be- 
coming Mrs.  Jos  Sedley.  For  the  fireworks 
somehow  created  a  thirst,  and  the  bowl  of  rack 
punch  for  which  Jos  called,  and  which  he  was 
left  to  consume,  as  the  young  ladies  did  not 
drink  it  and  Osborne  did  not  like  it,  speedily 
worked  its  disastrous  effects.  In  short,  as  we 
all  know,  Jos  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and  when 
he  came  to  himself  the  following  morning  and 
saw  himself  as  Osborne  wished  he  should,  all 
his  tender  passion  for  Becky  evaporated  once 
and  for  all. 

Perhaps  these  visitors  to  Vauxhall  who  never 
had  an  existence  are  more  real  to  us  to-day 
than  all  the  countless  thousands  of  men  and 


Vauxhall  311 


women  who  really  trod  its  gravel  walks.  But 
the  real  and  the  unreal  alike  are  of  the  past, 
a  memory  for  the  fancy  to  play  with  as  is  that 
of  Vauxhall  itself. 


CHAPTER   II 

EANELAGH 

During  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury Vauxhall  had  a  serious  rival  in  Ranelagh. 
No  doubt  the  success  of  the  former  was  the 
cause  of  the  latter.  It  may  have  been,  too,  that 
as  the  gardens  at  Vauxhall  became  more  and 
more  a  popular  resort  without  distinction  of 
class,  the  need  was  felt  of  a  rendezvous  which 
should  be  a  little  more  select. 

No  doubt  exists  as  to  how  Ranelagh  came  by 
its  name.  Toward  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century  the  Earl  of  Ranelagh  built  himself  a 
house  at  Chelsea,  and  surrounded  it  with  gar- 
dens which  were  voted  the  best  in  England  for 
their  size.  This  peer,  who  was  Paymaster- 
General  of  the  Forces,  seems  to  have  taken 
keen  pleasure  in  house-planning  and  the  laying 
out  of  grounds.  Among  the  manuscripts  of  the 
Marquis  of  Ormonde  are  many  letters  written 
by  him  to  the  bearer  of  that  title  in  the  early 
eighteenth  century,  which  show  that  he  as- 
sumed the  oversight  of  building  operations  at 

312 


Ranelagh  313 

Ormonde's  London  house  at  that  time.  The 
minute  attention  he  gave  to  all  kinds  of  details 
proves  that  he  had  gained  experience  by  the 
building  of  his  own  house  not  many  years  be- 
fore. 

But  Ranelagh  house  and  gardens  had  a  short 
history  as  the  residence  and  pleasance  of  a 
nobleman.  The  earl  died  in  1712,  and  in  1730 
it  became  necessary  to  secure  an  act  of  Par- 
liament to  vest  his  property  at  Chelsea  in  trus- 
tees. Three  years  later  a  sale  took  place,  and 
the  house  and  larger  portion  of  the  grounds 
were  purchased  by  persons  named  Swift  and 
Timbrell.  It  was  at  this  stage  the  project  of 
establishing  a  rival  to  Vauxhall  first  took 
shape.  The  idea  seems  to  have  originated  with 
James  Lacy,  that  patriotic  patentee  of  Drury 
Lane  theatre  who  raised  a  band  of  two  hundred 
men  at  the  time  of  the  Jacobite  Rebellion  of 
1745.  He  it  was,  also,  who  afterwards  became 
a  partner  with  David  Garrick.  But,  however 
successful  he  was  to  prove  as  an  organizer  of 
volunteers.  Lacy  was  not  to  shine  as  the  foun- 
der of  a  rival  to  Vauxhall.  For  some  unex- 
plained reason  he  abandoned  his  share  in  the 
Ranelagh  project,  and  eventually  the  matter 
was  taken  in  hand  by  Sir  Thomas  Robinson, 
who  soon  secured  sufficient  financial  support 


314   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


to  carry  the  plan  to  a  successful  issue.  Sir 
Thomas  provided  a  considerable  share  of  the 
capital  of  sixteen  thousand  pounds  himself,  and 
took  a  leading  part  in  the  management  of  Kane- 
lagh  till  his  death  in  1777.  His  gigantic  figure 
and  cheery  manners  earned  for  him  the  titles 
of  Kanelagh's  Maypole  and  G-ardand  of  De- 
lights. 

As  the  gardens  were  already  laid  out  in  a 
handsome  manner,  the  chief  matter  requiring 
attention  was  the  planning  and  erection  of  a 
suitable  main  building.  Hence  the  erection  of 
the  famous  Rotunda,  the  architectural  credit  of 
which  is  given  to  one  William  Jones.  But  that 
honour  is  disputed.  It  is  claimed  that  no  less 
a  person  than  Henry  VIII  was  responsible  for 
the  idea  on  which  the  Rotunda  was  based. 
That  king,' according  to  one  historian,  caused 
a  great  banqueting-house  to  be  erected,  eight 
hundred  feet  in  compass,  after  the  manner  of 
a  theatre.  ' '  And  in  the  midst  of  the  same  ban- 
queting-house,'' continued  the  historian,  ''  was 
set  up  a  great  pillar  of  timber,  made  of  eight 
great  masts,  bound  together  with  iron  bands 
for  to  hold  them  together :  for  it  was  a  hundi'ed 
and  thirty-four  feet  in  length,  and  cost  six 
pounds  thirteen  shillings  and  fourpence  to  set 
it  upright.    The  banqueting-house  was  covered 


Ranelagh  315 

over  with  canvas,  fastened  with  ropes  and  iron 
as  fast  as  might  be  devised;  and  within  the 
said  house  was  painted  the  heavens,  with  stars, 
sun,  moon,  and  clouds,  with  divers  other  things 
made  above  men's  heads.  And  above  the  high 
pillar  of  timber  that  stood  upright  in  the  midst, 
was  made  stages  of  timber  for  organs  and 
other  instruments  to  stand  upon,  and  men  to 
play  on  them.''  Such,  it  is  asserted,  was  the 
model  the  architect  of  the  Rotunda  at  Ranelagh 
had  in  view. 

And  really  there  appears  to  be  good  ground 
for  laying  this  charge  of  constructive  plagiar- 
ism against  the  memory  of  William  Jones.  It 
is  true  the  building  was  on  a  scale  somewhat 
smaller  than  that  erected  at  the  order  of  Henry 
VIII,  for  its  circumference  was  limited  to  four 
hundred  and  fifty  feet,  while  its  greatest  diam- 
eter was  but  one  hundred  and  eighty-five  feet. 
But  the  planning  of  the  interior  of  the  Rotunda 
bore  a  suspicious  likeness  to  the  royal  banquet- 
ing-house.  The  central  portion  of  the  building 
was  a  square  erection  consisting  of  pillars  and 
arches,  and  seems  to  have  been  a  direct  copy 
of  those  eight  great  masts.  Nor  did  the  par- 
allel end  there.  In  the  Rotunda  at  Ranelagh 
as  in  the  king's  banqueting-house,  this  central 
construction  was  designed  as  the  place  for  the 


316  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


musicians.  And  even  the  ceiling  was  some- 
thing of  a  copy,  for  that  of  the  Rotunda  was 
divided  into  panels,  in  each  of  which  was 
painted  a  celestial  figure  on  a  sky-blue  ground. 
On  the  general  idea  of  the  banqueting-house, 
however,  Mr.  Jones  made  a  number  of  improve- 
ments. The  entrances  to  the  Rotunda  were 
four  in  nmnber,  corresponding  with  the  points 
of  the  compass,  each  consisting  of  a  portico 
designed  after  the  manner  of  a  triumphal  arch. 
The  interior  of  the  building  presented,  save  for 
its  central  erection,  the  aspect  of  a  modern 
opera-house.  Around  the  entire  wall  was  a 
circle  of  boxes,  divided  by  wainscoting,  and 
each  decorated  with  a  ' '  droll  painting  ' '  and 
hung  with  a  candle-lamp.  Above  these  was 
another  tier  of  boxes,  similarly  fitted,  each  of 
them,  fifty-two  in  number,  having  accommoda- 
tion for  seven  or  eight  persons.  Higher  up  was 
a  circle  of  sixty  windows.  Although  the  build- 
ing itself  was  constructed  of  wood,  it  could 
boast  of  a  plaster  floor,  which  was  covered  with 
matting.  Scattered  over  that  floor  were  nu- 
merous tables  covered  with  red  baize  whereon 
refreshments  were  served.  Such  was  the  gen- 
eral arrangement  of  the  Rotunda,  but  one  alter- 
ation had  speedily  to  be  made.  It  was  quickly 
discovered   that   the   central    erection   was   ill 


Ranelagh  317 


adapted  for  the  use  of  the  orchestra,  and  con- 
sequently it  was  transformed  into  four  fire- 
places, which  were  desirable  locations  in  the 
cold  months  of  the  year. 

Perhaps  no  surprise  need  be  felt  that  Eane- 
lagh  was  not  ready  when  it  was  opened.    What 
public  resort  ever  has  been?    The  consequence 
was  that  there  were  at  least  two  opening  cere- 
monies.    The  first  took  the  form  of  a  public 
breakfast  on  April  5th,  1742,  and  was  followed 
by  other  early  repasts  of  a  like  nature.     One 
of  these,  seventeen  days  later,  provided  Horace 
Walpole  with  the  subject  of  the  first  of  his 
many  descriptions  of  the  place.    ' '  I  have  been 
breakfasting  this  morning  at  Eanelagh  Oar- 
dens;  ''  he  wrote,  "  they  have  built  an  immense 
amphitheatre,  with  balconies  full  of  little  ale 
houses ;   it  is  in  rivalry  to  Vauxhall,  and  costs 
above  twelve  thousand  pounds.     The  building 
is  not  finished,  but  they  get  great  sums  by  peo- 
ple going  to   see  it  and  breakfasting  in  the 
house :  there  were  yesterday  no  less  than  three 
hundred  and  eighty  persons,  at  eighteen  pence 
a  piece.''    About  a  month  later  another  inau- 
gural ceremony  took  place,  which  Walpole  duly 
reported.     ''  Two  nights  ago  Eanelagh  Gar- 
dens were  opened  at  Chelsea;   the  prince,  prin- 
cess, duke,  much  nobility,  and  much  mob  be- 


318  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


sides  were  there.  There  is  a  vast  amphithea- 
tre, finely  gilt,  painted,  and  illuminated;  into 
which  everybody  that  loves  eating,  drinking, 
staring,  or  crowding  is  admitted  for  twelve 
pence.  The  building  and  disposition  of  the 
gardens  cost  sixteen  thousand  pounds.  Twice 
a  week  there  are  to  be  ridottos  at  guinea  tick- 
ets, for  which  you  are  to  have  a  supper  and 
music.  I  was  there  last  night,  but  did  not  feel 
the  joy  of  it.  Vauxhall  is  a  little  better,  for  the 
garden  is  pleasanter,  and  one  goes  by  water." 
In  time,  however,  Walpole  was  converted  to 
the  superior  attractions  of  the  new  resort. 
Two  years  later  he  confessed  that  he  went 
every  night  to  Eanelagh,  that  it  had  totally 
beaten  Vauxhall,  and  that  it  had  the  patronage 
of  everybody  who  was  anybody.  Lord  Chester- 
field had  fallen  so  much  in  love  with  the  place 
that  he  had  ordered  all  his  letters  to  be  directed 
thither. 

Many  red-letter  days  are  set  down  in  the  his- 
tory of  Ranelagh  during  the  sixty  years  of  its 
existence,  but  its  historians  are  agreed  that 
the  most  famous  of  the  entertainments  given 
there  was  the  Venetian  Masquerade  in  honour 
of  the  Peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  on  April  26th, 
1749.  For  the  most  spirited  narrative  of  that 
festival,  recourse  must  be  had  to  the  letters  of 


<     ->  i- 


Ranelagh  319 


Walpole.  Peace  was  proclaimed  on  the  25th, 
and  the  next  day,  Walpole  wrote,  ^'  was  what 
was  called  a  Jubilee  Masquerade  in  the  Vene- 
tian manner,  at  Ranelagh;  it  had  nothing  Ve- 
netian in  it,  but  was  by  far  the  best  understood 
and  prettiest  spectacle  I  ever  saw;  nothing  in 
a  fairy  tale  even  surpassed  it.  One  of  the  pro- 
prietors, who  is  a  German,  and  belongs  to  the 
Court,  had  got  my  Lady  Yarmouth  to  persuade 
the  King  to  order  it.  It  began  at  three  o  'clock, 
and  about  five  people  of  fashion  began  to  go. 
When  you  entered  you  found  the  whole  garden 
filled  with  masks  and  spread  with  tents,  which 
remained  all  night  very  commodely.  In  one 
quarter  was  a  Maypole  dressed  with  garlands 
and  people  dancing  round  it  to  a  tabor  and 
pipes  and  rustic  music,  all  masqued,  as  were 
all  the  various  bands  of  music  that  were  dis- 
persed in  different  parts  of  the  garden;  some 
like  huntsmen  with  French  horns,  some  like 
peasants,  and  a  troop  of  harlequins  and  scara- 
mouches in  the  little  open  temple  on  the  mount. 
On  the  Canal  was  a  sort  of  gondola  adorned 
with  flags  and  streamers,  and  filled  with  music, 
rowing  about.  All  round  the  outside  of  the 
amphitheatre  were  shops  filled  with  Dresden 
china,  Japan,  etc.,  and  all  the  shopkeepers  in 
mask.    The  amphitheatre  was  illuminated,  and 


320   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


in  the  middle  was  a  circular  bower,  composed 
of  all  kinds  of  firs  in  tubs,  from  twenty  to 
thirty  feet  high :  under  them  orange  trees  with 
small  lamps  in  each  orange,  and  below  them 
all  sorts  of  the  finest  auriculas  in  pots;  and 
festoons  of  natural  flowers  hanging  from  tree 
to  tree.  Between  the  arches,  too,  were  firs,  and 
smaller  ones  in  the  balconies  above.  There 
were  booths  for  tea  and  wine,  gaming  tables 
and  dancing,  and  about  two  thousand  persons. 
In  short  it  pleased  me  more  than  anything  I 
ever  saw.'^ 

But  there  was  another  side  to  all  this.  Vaux- 
hall  evidently  looked  on  with  envious  eyes,  and 
those  who  were  interested  in  the  welfare  of  that 
resort  managed  to  engineer  opposition  to  the 
Venetian  fete  in  the  form  of  satirical  prints 
and  letterpress.  Perhaps  they  did  more.  At 
any  rate  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  shortly 
afterwards  the  justices  of  Middlesex  were 
somehow  put  in  motion,  and  made  such  repre- 
sentations to  the  authorities  at  Ranelagh  that 
they  were  obliged  to  give  an  undertaking  not 
to  indulge  in  any  more  public  masques.  This, 
however,  did  not  prevent  the  subscription  car- 
nival in  celebration  of  a  royal  birthday  in  May, 
1750,  when  there  was  ^^  much  good  company 
but  more  bad  company,''  the  members  of  which 


Ranelagh  321 


were  ''  dressed  or  undressed  "  as  they  thought 

fit. 

Ranelagh  was  evidently  an  acquired  taste.    It 

has  been  seen  that  Walpole  did  not  take  to  the 

place  at  first,  but  afterwards  became  one  of 

its  most  enthusiastic  admirers.    And  there  was 

a    famous    friend    of    Walpole    who    passed 

through  the  same  experience.     This  was  the 

poet  Gray,  who,  three  years  after  the  resort  was 

opened  declared  that  he  had  no  intention  of 

following  the  crowd  to  Ranelagh. 

''  I  have  never  been  at  Ranelagh  Gardens 
since  they  were  opened,"  is  his  confession  to  a 
friend.  ''  They  do  not  succeed:  people  see  it 
once,  or  twice,  and  so  they  go  to  Vauxhall.'' 

''  Well,  but  is  it  not  a  very  great  design,  very 
new,  finely  lighted!  '' 

''Well,  yes,  aye,  very  fine  truly,  so  they 
yawn  and  go  to  Vauxhall,  and  then  it's  too  hot, 
and  then  it's  too  cold,  and  here's  a  wind  and 
there's  a  damp." 

Perhaps  it  is  something  of  a  surprise  to  find 
the  author  of  the  ''  Elegy  "  interested  in  pub- 
lic gardens  at  all,  but  given  such  an  interest 
it  would  have  been  thought  that  Ranelagh 
was  more  to  his  taste  than  Vauxhall.  And  so 
it  proved  in  the  end.  Like  his  Eton  friend  Wal- 
pole, he  became  a  convert  and  so  hearty  an 


322   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

admirer  of  the  Chelsea  resort  that  he  spent 
many  evenings  there  in  the  August  of  1746. 

Other  notable  visitors  to  Kanelagh  included 
Goldsmith  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Tobias  Smollett.  It  seems  more 
than  likely  that  Ranelagh  with  the  first  couple 
figured  largely  in  that  round  of  pleasures  which 
kept  them  from  the  meetings  of  The  Club  to 
the  disgust  of  Beauclerk,  but  Goldsmith  might 
have  justified  his  visits  on  the  plea  that  he  was 
gathering  ''  local  colour  "  for  that  letter  by 
Belinda  which  he  introduced  into  the  ' '  Citizen 
of  the  World. ' '  No  doubt  he  saw  many  a  colo- 
nel there  answering  to  that  ^^  irresistible  fel- 
low ''  who  made  such  an  impression  on  Belin- 
da's heart.  ^'  So  well-dressed,  so  neat,  so 
sprightly,  and  plays  about  one  so  agreeably, 
that  I  vow  he  has  as  much  spirits  as  the  Mar- 
quis of  Monkeyman's  Italian  greyhound.  I 
first  saw  him  at  Ranelagh:  he  shines  there: 
he  is  nothing  without  Eanelagh,  and  Ranelagh 
nothing  without  him.''  Perhaps  Sir  Joshua 
would  have  excused  his  idling  at  Ranelagh  on 
the  ground  of  looking  for  models,  or  the  hints 
it  afforded  for  future  pictures. 

With  Dr.  Johnson  it  was  different.  Rane- 
lagh was  to  him  a  ^'  place  of  innocent  recrea- 
tion "  and  nothing  more.     The  ''  coup  d^ceil 


Ranelagh  323 


was  the  finest  thing  he  had  ever  seen,''  Boswell 
reports,  and  then  makes  his  own  comparison 
between  that  place  and  the  Pantheon.     ''  The 
truth  is,  Ranelagh  is  of  a  more  beautiful  form ; 
more  of  it,  or  rather,  indeed,  the  whole  Ro- 
tunda, appears  at  once,  and  it  is  better  lighted. 
However,  as  Johnson  observed,  we  saw  the  Pan- 
theon in  time  of  mourning,  when  there  was  a 
dull  uniformity;    whereas  we  had  seen  Rane- 
lagh, when  the  view  was  enlivened  with  a  gay 
profusion  of  colours."    No  small  part  of  John- 
son's pleasure  during  his  visits  to  Ranelagh 
was  derived  from  uncomplimentary  reflections 
on  the  mental  conditions   of  its  frequenters. 
Boswell  had  been  talking  one  day  in  the  vein 
of  his  hero's  poem  on  the  'V Vanity  of  Human 
Wishes,"  and  commented  on  the  persistence 
with  which  things  were  done  upon  the  supposi- 
tion   of   happiness,    as    witness    the    splendid 
places  of  public  amusement,  crowded  with  com- 
pany. 

''  Alas,  Sir,"  said  Johnson,  in  a  kind  of 
appendix  to  his  poem,  ''  these  are  all  only 
struggles  for  happiness.  Wlien  I  first  entered 
Ranelagh,  it  gave  an  expansion  and  gay  sensa- 
tion to  my  mind,  such  as  I  never  experienced 
any  where  else.  But,  as  Xerxes  wept  when  he 
viewed  his  immense  army,  and  considered  that 


324   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

not  one  of  that  great  multitude  would  be  alive 
a  hundred  years  afterwards,  so  it  went  to  my 
heart  to  consider  that  there  was  not  one  in  all 
that  brilliant  circle,  that  was  not  afraid  to  go 
home  and  think ;  but  that  the  thoughts  of  each 
individual  there  would  be  distressing  when 
alone/' 

Smollett,  like  Goldsmith,  made  good  use  of 
his  visits  to  Ranelagh.  With  the  enterprise  of 
the  observant  novelist,  he  turned  his  experi- 
ences into  ^'  copy.''  And  with  that  ubiquity 
of  vision  which  is  the  privilege  of  the  master 
of  fiction  he  was  able  to  see  the  place  from  two 
points  of  view.  To  Matt.  Bramble,  that  devo- 
tee of  solitude  and  mountains,  the  Chelsea  re- 
sort was  one  of  the  worst  inflictions  of  London. 

*^  Wliat  are  the  amusements  of  Ranelagh?  " 
he  asked.  '*  One  half  of  the  company  are  fol- 
lowing one  another's  tails,  in  an  eternal  circle; 
like  so  many  blind  asses  in  an  olive-mill,  where 
they  can  neither  discourse,  distinguish,  nor  be 
distinguished;  while  the  other  half  are  drink- 
ing hot  water,  under  the  denomination  of  tea, 
till  nine  or  ten  o'clock  at  night,  to  keep  them 
awake  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  As  for  the 
orchestra,  the  vocal  music  especially,  it  is  well 
for  the  performers  that  they  cannot  be  heard 
distinctly."    But  Smollett  does  not  leave  Rane- 


Ranelagh  325 


lagh  at  that.    Lydia  also  visited  the  place  and 
was  enraptured  with  everything.     To  her  it 
looked  like  an  enchanted  palace  "  of  a  genio, 
adorned  with  the  most  exquisite  performances 
of  painting,   carving,  and  gilding,   enlighted 
with  a  thousand  golden  lamps,  that  emulate 
the  noon-day  sun;  crowded  with  the  great,  the 
rich,  the  gay,  the  happy,  and  the  fair;  glitter- 
ing with  cloth  of  gold  and  silver,  lace,  embroid- 
ery and  precious  stones.    While  these  exulting 
son's  and  daughters  of  felicity  tread  this  round 
of  pleasure,  or  regale  in  different  parties,  and 
separate   lodges,  with  fine  imperial   tea   and 
other  delicious  refreshments,  their  ears  are  en- 
tertained with  the  most  ravishing  music,  both 
instrumental  and  vocal."    If  the  management 
of  Ranelagh  had  been  on  the  lookout  for  a  press 
agent,  they  would  doubtless  have  preferred 
Smollett  in  his  Lydia  mood. 

Only  occasionally  was  the  even  tenor  of 
Eanelagh  amusement  disturbed  by  an  untoward 
event.  One  such  occasion  was  due  to  that  no- 
torious Dr.  John  Hill  who  figures  so  largely  in 
Isaac  Disraeli's  "  Calamities  and  Quarrels  of 
Authors."  Few  men  have  tried  more  ways  of 
getting  a  living  than  he.  As  a  youth  he  was 
apprenticed  to  an  apothecary,  but  in  early  man- 
hood he  turned  to  botany  and  travelled  all  over 


326  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 


England  in  search,  of  rare  plants  which  he  in- 
tended drying  by  a  special  process  and  publish- 
ing by  subscription.  When  that  scheme  failed, 
he  took  to  the  stage,  and  shortly  after  wrote 
the  words  of  an  opera  which  was  sent  to  Kich 
and  rejected.  This  was  the  beginning  of  au- 
thorship with  Hill,  whose  pen,  however,  brought 
more  quarrels  on  his  head  than  guineas  into  his 
pockets.  And  it  was  his  authorship  which  con- 
nected him  with  the  history  of  Ranelagh. 

One  of  HilPs  ventures  was  to  provide  the 
town  with  a  daily  paper  called  The  Inspector, 
in  the  pages  of  which  he  made  free  with  the 
character  of  an  Irish  gentleman  named  Brown. 
Usually  the  men  Hill  attacked  were  writers, 
who  flayed  him  with  their  pens  whenever  they 
thought  there  was  occasion.  Hence  the  con- 
clusive epigram  with  which  Garrick  rewarded 
an  attack  on  himself; 

"  For  physic  and  farces,  his  equal  there  scarce  is, 
His  farces  are  physic,  his  physic  a  farce  is." 

But  Mr.  Brown  was  a  man  of  action,  not  words. 
So  he  sought  out  his  assailant  at  Eanelagh  on 
the  night  of  May  6th,  1752,  and  caned  him  in 
the  Rotunda  in  the  presence  of  a  large  com- 
pany. Here  was  excitement  indeed  for  Rane- 
lagh, and  the  affair  was  the  talk  of  the  town  for 


t  '    t      ( 


«     '     c    (    r     <» 


THE    ASSAULT    ON    DJt.    JOHN    HILL   AT    KANEL.\GH. 


Ranelagh  327 


many  a  day  afterwards.  Of  course  Hill  did  not 
retort  in  kind ;  on  the  contrary  lie  showed  him- 
self to  be  an  abject  coward  and  took  his  thrash- 
ing without  any  bodily  protest.  That  he  made 
loud  vocal  protest  seems  likely  enough.  Hence 
the  point  of  the  pictorial  satire  which  was 
quickly  on  sale  at  the  London  print-shops. 
This  drawing  depicted  Hill  being  seized  by  the 
ear  by  the  irate  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  represented 
as  exclaiming,  ''  Draw  your  sword,  libeller,  if 
you  have  the  spirit  of  a  mouse.'' 

The  only  reply  of  Hill  was,  ^'  What!  against 
an  illiterate  fellow  that  can't  spell?    I  prefer  a 

drubbing.    Oh,  Mr.  P ,  get  me  the  constable, 

for  here's  a  gentleman  going  to  murder  me!  " 

Mr.  P ,  who  is  seen  hastening  from  behind 

a  pillar  of  the  Rotunda,  replies :  '  ^  Yes,  sir,  yes. 
Pray  young  gentleman  don't  hurt  him,  for  he 
never  has  any  meaning  in  what  he  writes." 

Hill  took  to  his  bed,  raised  an  action  against 
Mr.  Brown  for  assault,  and  proclaimed  from 
the  housetops  that  there  was  a  conspiracy  to 
murder  him.  This  brought  forth  a  second 
print,  showing  Hill  in  bed  and  attended  by 
doctors,  one  of  whom,  in  reply  to  the  patient's 
plea  that  he  had  no  money,  responds,  ''  Sell 
your  sword,  it  is  only  an  encumbrance."  . 

Another  lively  episode  disturbed  the  peace 


328  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

of  Ranelagh  on  the  night  of  May  11th,  1764. 
Several  years  previously  some  daring  spirits 
among  the  wealthier  classes  had  started  a 
movement  for  the  abolition  of  vails,  otherwise 
*^  tips,^'  to  servants,  and  the  leaders  of  that 
movement  were  subjected  to  all  kinds  of  annoy- 
ance from  the  class  concerned.  On  the  night 
in  question  the  resentment  of  coachmen,  foot- 
men and  other  servants  developed  into  a  seri- 
ous riot  at  Ranelagh,  special  attention  being 
paid  to  those  members  of  the  nobility  and  gen- 
try who  would  not  suffer  their  employees  to 
take  vails  from  their  guests.  ''  They  began,'' 
says  a  chronicle  of  the  time,  ' '  by  hissing  their 
masters,  they  then  broke  all  the  lamps  and  out- 
side windows  with  stones ;  and  afterwards  put- 
ting out  their  flambeaux,  pelted  the  company, 
in  a  most  audacious  manner,  with  brickbats, 
etc.,  whereby  several  were  greatly  hurt.''  This 
attack  was  not  received  in  the  submissive  spirit 
of  Dr.  Hill;  the  assaulted  gentry  drew  their 
swords  to  beat  back  the  rioters  and  severely 
wounded  not  a  few.  They  probably  enjoyed 
the  diversion  from  the  ordinary  pleasures  of 
Ranelagh. 

How  gladly  the  frequenters  of  the  gardens 
welcomed  the  slightest  departure  from  the  nor- 
mal proceedings  of  the  place  may  be  inferred 


Ranelagh  329 


from  the  importance  which  was  attached  to  an 
incident  which  took  place  soon  after  1770.    Pub- 
lic mourning  was  in  order  for  some  one,  and 
of  course  the  regular  patrons  of  Eanelagh  ex- 
pressed their  obedience  to  the  court  edict  by 
appropriate  attire.     One  evening,  however,  it 
was  observed  that  there  were  two  gentlemen 
in  the  gardens  dressed  in  coloured  clothes.    It 
was  obvious  they  were  strangers  to  the  place 
and  unknown  to  each  other.     Their  inappro- 
priate costmne  quickly  attracted  attention,  and 
became   the    subject   of   general   conversation, 
and,  such  a  dearth  was  there  of  excitement, 
Lord  Spencer  Hamilton  aroused  feverish  in- 
terest by  laying  a  wager  that  before  the  night 
was  out  he  would  have  the  two  strangers  walk- 
ing arm  in  arm.     The  wager  taken,  he  set  to 
work  in  an  adroit  manner.    Watching  one  of 
the  strangers  until  he  sat  down,  he  immedi- 
ately placed  himself  by  his  side,  and  entered 
into  conversation.    A  few  minutes  later  Lord 
Spencer  left  his  new  friend  in  search  of  the 
other   stranger,   to  whom  he  addressed  some 
civil  remark,  and  accompanied  on  a  stroll  round 
the  gardens.     Coming  back  eventually  to  the 
seat  on  which  the  first  stranger  was  still  rest- 
ing, Lord  Spencer  had  no  difficulty  in  persuad- 
ing his  second  new  acquaintance  to  take  a  seat 


330   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

also.  The  conversation  of  the  trio  naturally 
became  general,  and  a  little  later  Lord  Spencer 
suggested  a  promenade.  On  starting  oif  he 
offered  his  arm  to  the  first  stranger,  who  paid 
the  same  compliment  to  stranger  number  two, 
with  the  result  that  Lord  Spencer  was  able  to 
direct  the  little  procession  to  the  vicinity  of 
his  friends,  and  so  demonstrate  that  the  wager 
was  won.  So  simple  an  incident  furnished 
Eanelagh  with  great  amusement  for  an  entire 
evening ! 

What  the  management  provided  by  way  of 
entertainment  has  been  partially  hinted  at. 
Music  appears  to  have  been  the  chief  stand-by 
from  the  first  and  was  provided  at  breakfast 
time  as  well  as  at  night.  Many  notable  players 
and  singers  appeared  in  the  Eotunda,  including 
Mozart,  who,  as  a  boy  of  eight,  played  some 
of  his  own  compositions  on  the  harpsichord 
and  organ,  and  Dibdin,  the  famous  ballad 
singer.  Fireworks  were  a  later  attraction,  as 
also  was  the  exhibition  named  Mount  Etna, 
which  called  for  a  special  building.  Occasional 
variety  was  provided  by  regattas  and  shooting- 
matches,  and  balloon-ascents,  and  displays  of 
diving. 

No  doubt  Ranelagh  was  at  its  best  and  gay- 
est when  the  scene  of  a  masquerade.    But  un- 


Ranelagh  331 


fortunately  those  entertainments  had  their 
sinister  side.  Fielding  impeaches  them  in 
**  Amelia  ''  by  their  results,  and  the  novelist 
was  not  alone  in  his  criticism.  The  Connois- 
seur devoted  a  paper  to  the  evils  of  those  gath- 
erings, deriding  them  as  foreign  innovations, 
and  recalling  the  example  of  the  lady  who  had 
proposed  to  attend  one  in  the  undress  garb  of 
Iphigenia.  ^^  What  the  above-mentioned  lady 
had  the  hardiness  to  attempt  alone,''  the  writer 
continued,  ''  will  (I  am  assured)  be  set  on  foot 
by  our  persons  of  fashion,  as  soon  as  the  hot 
days  come  in.  Eanelagh  is  the  place  pitched 
upon  for  their  meeting;  where  it  is  proposed 
to  have  a  masquerade  al  fresco^  and  the  whole 
company  are  to  display  all  their  charms  in 
puris  naturalihus.  The  pantheon  of  the  heathen 
gods,  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  and  Titian's 
prints,  will  supply  them  with  sufficient  variety 
of  undressed  characters."  A  cynic  might  har- 
bour the  suspicion  that  this  critic  was  in  the 
pay  of  Vauxhall. 

Even  he,  however,  did  not  utter  the  worst 
about  the  amusements  of  Ranelagh.  The  truth 
was  known  to  all  but  confessed  by  few.  The 
outspoken  Matt.  Bramble  in  the  indictment 
cited  above  gave  emphatic  utterance  to  the  fact 
that  the  chief  recreation  at  Ranelagh  was  worse 


332  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

than  none  at  all.  ^^  One  may  be  easily  tired  '' 
of  the  place,  was  the  verdict  of  a  noble  lord  in 
1746;  ^'  it  is  always  the  same.'^  And  to  the 
same  effect  is  the  conclusion  reached  by  a 
French  visitor,  who  was  delighted  for  five  min- 
utes, and  then  oppressed  with  satiety  and  in- 
difference. When  the  visitor  had  made  the 
promenade  of  the  Eotunda,  there  was  prac- 
tically nothing  for  him  to  do  save  make  it 
again.  Hence  the  mill-round  of  monotony  so 
aptly  expressed  by  the  Suffolk  village  poet, 
Kobert  Bloomfield,  who  was  lured  to  Eanelagh 
one  night  shortly  before  its  doors  were  finally 
closed. 


« 


To  Ranelagh^  once  in  my  life, 

By  gopd-natiir'd  force  I  was  driven; 
The  nations  had  ceas'd  their  long  strife, 

And  Peace  beam'd  her  radiance  from  Heaven. 
What  wonders  were  there  to  be  found, 

That  a  clown  might  enjoy  or  disdain? 
First,  we  trac'd  the  gay  ring  all  around; 

Aye  —  and  then  we  went  round  it  again. 


"  A  thousand  feet  rustled  on  mats, 
A  carpet  that  once  had  been  green, 

Men  bow'd  with  their  outlandish  hats. 
With  corners  so  fearfully  keen ! 

Fair  maids,  who,  at  home  in  their  haste. 
Had  left  all  their  clothes  but  a  train, 


Ranelagh  ^^^ 


Swept  the  floor  clean,  as  slowly  they  pac'd, 
Then  —  walked  round  and  swept  it  again, 

"  The  music  was  truly  enchanting, 

Eight  glad  was  I  when  I  came  near  it; 
But  in  fashion  I  found  I  was  wanting  — 

'Twas  the  fashion  to  walk,  and  not  hear  it. 
A  fine  youth,  as  beauty  beset  him, 

Look'd  smilingly  round  on  the  train, 
'  The  King's  nephew,'  they  cried,  as  they  met  him. 
Tiien  —  we  went  round  and  met  him  again. 

"  Huge  paintings  of  heroes  and  peace 

Seem'd  to  smile  at  the  sound  of  the  fiddle. 
Proud  to  fill  up  each  tall  shining  space, 

Eound  the  lantern  that  stood  in  the  middle. 
And  George's  head  too ;  Heaven  screen  him ; 

May  he  finish  in  peace  his  long  reign : 
And  what  did  we  when  we  had  seen  him  ?  ^^ 

^hy  —  went  round  and  saw  him  again/* 

That  poem  ougM  to  have  killed  Ranelagh 
had  the  resort  not  been  near  its  demise  at  the 
time  it  was  written.  But  there  was  to  be  one 
fimal  flare-np  ere  the  end  came.  On  a  Jime 
night  in  1803  the  Rotunda  was  the  scene  of  its 
last  ball.  The  occasion  was  the  Installation  of 
the  Knights  of  the  Bath,  and  produced,  on  the 
authority  of  the  Annual  Register,  ''  one  of  the 
most  splendid  entertainments  ever  given  in  this 
country.''     The  cost  was  estimated  at  seven 


334   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

thousand  pounds,  which  may  well  have  been 
the  case  when  the  guests  ate  cherries  at  a 
guinea  a  pound  and  peas  at  fourteen  shillings 
a  quart.  That  fete  was  practically  the  last  of 
Eanelagh;  about  a  month  later  the  music 
ceased  and  the  lamps  were  extinguished  for 
ever.  And  the  ^*  struggles  for  happiness  '*  of 
sixty  years  were  ended. 


CHAPTER   III 

OTHER   FAVOURITE   RESORTS 

Prior  to  the  eighteenth  century  the  Londoner 
was  ill  provided  with  outdoor  pleasure  resorts. 
It  is  true  he  had  the  Paris  G^arden  at  Bank- 
side,  which  Donald  Lupton  declared  might  be 
better  termed  ' '  a  foul  den  than  a  fair  garden. 
It's  a  pity/'  he  added,  ''  so  good  a  piece  of 
ground  is  no  better   employed ;  ' '  but,   apart 
from  two  or  three  places  of  that  character,  his 
al  fresco  amusements  were  exceedingly  limited. 
It  should  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  the 
ale-houses  of  those  days  frequently  had  a  plot 
of  land  attached  to  them,  wherein  a  game  of 
bowls  might  be  enjoyed. 

But  the  object-lesson  of  Vauxhall  changed 
all  that.  From  the  date  when  that  resort 
passed  into  the  energetic  management  of  Jona- 
than Tyers,  smaller  pleasure  gardens  sprang 
into  existence  all  over  London.  By  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century  they  had  grown  so 
numerous  that  it  would  be  a  serious  under- 
taking  to    attempt    an   exhaustive    catalogue. 

335 


336  Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

As,  however,  they  had  so  many  features  in 
common,  and  passed  through  such  kindred 
stages  of  development,  the  purpose  of  this  sur- 
vey will  be  sufficiently  served  by  a  brief  his- 
tory of  four  or  five  typical  examples. 

How  general  was  the  impression  that  Vaux- 
hall  had  served  as  a  model  in  most  instances 
may  be  seen  from  the  remark  of  a  historian  of 
1761  to  the  effect  that  the  Marylebone  Garden 
was  to  be  ^^  considered  as  a  kind  of  humble 
imitation  of  Vauxhall.''  Had  Pepys'  Diary 
been  in  print  at  that  date,  and  known  to  the 
proprietor,  he  would  have  been  justified  in  re- 
senting the  comparison.  For,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  diarist,  under  the  date  of  May  7th, 
1668,  had  actually  set  down  this  record :  ^ '  Then 
we  abroad  to  Marrowbone,  and  there  walked  in 
the  garden,-  the  first  time  I  ever  was  there,  and 
a  pretty  place  it  is.''  At  a  first  glance  this 
entry  might  be  regarded  as  disposing  of  the 
charge  of  imitation  on  the  part  of  Marylebone 
Gardens.  Such,  however,  is  not  strictly  the 
case.  It  is  true  there  were  gardens  here  at  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  but  they 
were  part  of  the  grounds  of  the  old  manor- 
house,  and  practically  answered  to  those  tavern 
bowling-alleys  to  which  reference  has  been 
made.    The  princijDal  of  these  was  attached  to 


other  Favourite  Resorts  337 


the  tavern  known  as  the  Rose,  which  was  a 
favourite  haunt  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
and  the  scene  of  his  end-of-the-season  dinner 
at  which  he  always  gave  the  toast:  '^  May  as 
many  of  us  as  remain  unhanged  next  spring 
meet  here  again/ ^ 

What  needs  to  be  specially  noted  in  connec- 
tion with  the  history  of  this  resort  is,  that  it 
was  not  until  1737  —  five  years  after  the  open- 
ing of  Vauxhall  under  Tyers  —  that  the  owner 
of  Marylebone  Gardens,  Daniel  Gough,  suf- 
ficiently put  the  place  in  order  to  warrant  a 
charge  for  admission.  In  the  following  year 
the  place  was  formally  advertised  as  a  resort 
for  evening  amusement,  that  announcement 
marking  a  definite  competition  with  Vauxhall. 
The  buildings  at  this  time  comprised  a  spacious 
garden-orchestra  fitted  with  an  organ,  and  what 
was  called  the  Great  Room,  an  apartment  spe- 
cially adapted  for  balls  and  suppers. 

Many  singers,  some  famous  and  other  notori- 
ous, entertained  the  patrons  of  Marylebone 
Gardens.  From  1747  to  1752  the  principal  fe- 
male vocalist  was  Mary  Ann  Falkner,  who, 
after  a  respectable  marriage,  became  the  sub- 
ject of  an  arrangement  on  the  part  of  her  idle 
husband  whereby  she  passed  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Earl  of  Halifax.    She  bore  two  chil- 


338   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

dren  to  that  peer,  and  so  maintained  her  power 
over  him  that  for  her  sake  he  broke  off  an 
engagement  with  a  wealthy  lady.  Another 
songstress,  fair  and  frail,  was  the  celebrated 
Nan  Catley,  the  daughter  of  a  coachman,  whose 
beauty  of  face  and  voice  and  freedom  of  man- 
ners quickly  made  her  notorious.  She  had 
already  been  the  subject  of  an  exciting  law 
suit  when  she  appeared  at  Marylebone  at  the 
age  of  eighteen.  Miss  Catley  had  been  engaged 
by  Thomas  Lowe,  the  favourite  tenor,  who  in 
1763  became  the  lessee  of  the  gardens,  and 
opened  his  season  with  a  ' '  Musical  Address  to 
the  Town,''  sung  by  himself.  Miss  Catley  and 
Miss  Smith.  The  address  apologized  for  the 
lack  of  some  of  the  attractions  of  Vauxhall  and 
Kanelagh,  but  added  — 

"  Yet  nature  some  blessings  has  scattered  around ; 
And  means  to  improve  may  hereafter  be  found." 

Presuming  that  Lowe  kept  his  promise,  that 
did  not  prevent  failure  overtaking  him  as  a 
caterer  of  public  amusement.  He  lacked  enter- 
prise as  a  manager,  and  a  wet  summer  in  1767 
resulted  in  financial  catastrophe. 

More  serious  musical  efforts  than  ballad  con- 
certs were  attempted  at  Marylebone  from  time 


other  Favourite  Resorts  339 


to  time.  That  this  had  been  the  case  even  be- 
fore Dr.'  Samuel  Arnold  became  proprietor  of 
the  gardens  is  illustrated  by  an  anecdote  of 
Dr.  Fountayne  and  Handel,  who  often  fre- 
quented the  place.  Being  there  together  on  one 
occasion  the  great  composer  asked  his  friend's 
opinion  of  a  new  composition  being  played  by 
the  band.  After  listening  a  few  minutes,  Dr. 
Fountayne  proposed  that  they  resume  their 
walk,  for,  said  he,  ''it's  not  worth  listening 
to  — it's  very  poor  stuff."  ''  You  are  right, 
Mr.  Fountayne,"  Handel  replied,  ''it  is  very 
poor  stuff.  I  thought  so  myself  when  I  had 
finished  it." 

Fireworks  were  not  added  to  the  attractions 
until  1751,  and  even  then  the  displays  were  only 
occasional  features  for  some  years.  In  1772, 
however,  that  part  of  the  entertainment  was 
deputed  to  the  well-known  Torre,  whose  unique 
fireworks  were  the  talk  of  London.  He  had 
one  set  piece  called  the  Forge  of  Vulcan,  which 
was  so  popular  that  its  repetition  was  fre- 
quently demanded.  According  to  George  Stee- 
vens,  it  was  the  fame  of  Torre's  fireworks 
which  impelled  Dr.  Johnson  to  visit  the  gardens 
one  night  in  his  company.  ' '  The  evening  had 
proved  showery,"  wrote  Steevens  in  his  ac- 
count of  the  outing,  "  and  soon  after  the  few 


340    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

people  present  were  assembled,  public  notice 
was  given  that  the  conductors  of  the  wheels, 
suns,  stars,  etc.,  were  so  thoroughly  water- 
soaked  that  it  was  impossible  any  part  of  the 
exhibition  should  be  made.  ^  That's  a  mere  ex- 
cuse,' says  the  Doctor,  ^  to  save  their  crackers 
for  a  more  profitable  company.  Let  us  both 
hold  up  our  sticks,  and  threaten  to  break  these 
coloured  lamps  that  surround  the  orchestra, 
and  we  shall  soon  have  our  wishes  gratified. 
The  core  of  the  fireworks  cannot  be  injured; 
let  the  different  pieces  be  touched  in  their  re- 
spective centres,  and  they  will  do  their  offices 
as  well  as  ever.'  Some  young  men  who  over- 
heard him  immediately  began  the  violence  he 
had  recommended,  and  an  attempt  was  speedily 
made  to  fire  some  of  the  wheels  which  appeared 
to  have  received  the  smallest  damage;  but  to 
little  purpose  were  they  lighted,  for  most  of 
them  completely  failed." 

Apparently  that  was  not  the  only  occasion 
when  the  management  failed  to  keep  faith  with 
the  public.  In  July,  1774,  the  newspaper  se- 
verely criticised  the  proprietors  for  having 
charged  an  admission  fee  of  five  shillings  to  a 
Fete  Champetre,  which  consisted  of  nothing 
more  than  a  few  tawdry  festoons  and  extra 


>        1    -»       1     -»     ) 

'       ■)■>)•>      , 


>      5    »     ^    5 


02 

w 
p 

o 

o 

n 


other  Favourite  Resorts  341 


lamps,  and  another  mentor  of  an  earlier  date 
had  dismissed  the  whole  place  as  ''  nothing 
more  tl  two  or  three  gravel  roads,  and  a 
few  shapei^ss  trees."  Altogether,  popular  as 
Torre's  fireworks  were  when  they  went  off,  it 
is  not  improbable  that  they  had  a  considerable 
share  in  terminating  the  existence  of  the  gar- 
dens. Houses  were  increasing  fast  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  the  dwellers  in  those 
houses  objected  to  being  bombarded  with  rock- 
ets. At  any  rate,  six  years  after  the  renowned 
Torre  began  his  pyrotechnics,  the  site  of  the 
gardens  fell  into  the  hands  of  builders  and  the 
seeker  of  out-door  amusement  had  to  find  his 
enjoyment  elsewhere. 

Perhaps  some  of  the  frequenters  of  Mary- 
lebone  Gardens  transferred  their  patronage  to 
the  White  Conduit  House,  situated  two  or  three 
miles  to  the  north-east.  Here  again  is  an  ex- 
ample of  a  pleasure  resort  developing  partially 
from  an  ale-house,  for  the  legend  is  that  the 
White  Conduit  House  was  at  first  a  small  tav- 
ern, the  finishing  touches  to  which  were  given, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  much  hard  drinking, 
on  the  day  Charles  I  lost  his  head. 

Unusual  as  is  the  name  of  this  resort,  it  is 
largely  self-explanatory.    There  was  a  water- 


342   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

conduit  in  an  adjacent  field,  wliich  was  faced 
with  white  stone,  and  hence  the  name.  The 
house  itself,  however,  had  its  own  grounds, 
which  were  attractively  laid  out  when  the  whole 
property  was  reconstructed  somewhere  about 
1745.  At  that  time  a  Long  Room  was  erected, 
and  the  gardens  provided  with  a  fish-pond  and 
numerous  arbours.  The  popularity  of  the  place 
seems  to  date  from  the  proprietorship  of  Rob- 
ert Bartholomew,  who  acquired  the  property  in 
1754,  and  to  have  continued  unabated  till 
nearly  the  end  of  the  century.  Mr.  Bartholo- 
mew did  not  overlook  any  of  his  attractions 
in  the  announcement  he  made  on  taking  pos- 
session. ^'  For  the  better  accommodation  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen,"  so  the  advertisement 
ran,  *^  I  have  completed  a  long  walk,  with  a 
handsome  circular  fish-pond,  a  number  of  shady 
pleasant  arbours,  inclosed  with  a  fence  seven 
feet  high  to  prevent  being  the  least  incom- 
moded from  people  in  the  fields;  hot  loaves 
and  butter  every  day,  milk  directly  from  the 
cows,  coffee,  tea,  and  all  manner  of  liquors  in 
the  greatest  perfection;  also  a  handsome  long 
room,  from  whence  is  the  most  copious  pros- 
pects and  airy  situation  of  any  now  in  vogue. 
I  humbly  hope  the  continuance  of  my  friends' 
favours,  as  I  make  it  my  chief  study  to  have  the 


1       -1       1     ■> 


■  •);'■■'.  ,1. 


«.■':: 


iiiffif 


liii.iii'':''' 


'^#'^Si)i 


•v;-v 


•It  i^ 


h  i 


GO 
P 

o 

K 


O 
H 


other  Favourite  Resorts  343 


best  accommodations,  and  am,  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, your  obliged  bumble  servant,  Kobert 
Bartholomew.  Note.  My  cows  eat  no  grains, 
neither  any  adulteration  in  milk  or  cream.''  It 
is  obvious  that  Mr.  Bartholomew's  enthusiasm 
made  him  reckless  of  grammar,  and  that  some 
of  his  ladies  and  gentlemen  might  have  ob- 
jected to  have  their  butter  hot ;  but  it  is  equally 
plain  that  here  was  a  man  who  knew  his  busi- 
ness. 

And  he  did  not  fail  of  adequate  reward.  Six 
years  after  the  publication  of  that  seductive 
announcement  the  resort  had  become  so  popu- 
lar, especially  as  the  objective  of  a  Sunday  out- 
ing, that  its  praises  were  sung  in  poetry  in  so 
reputable  a  periodical  as  the  Gentleman's  Mag- 
azine. The  verses  describe  the  joy  of  the  Lon- 
don 'prentice  on  the  return  of  Sunday,  and  give 
a  spirited  picture  of  the  scene  at  the  gardens. 

"  His  meal  meridian  o'er. 
With  switch  in  hand,  he  to  White  Conduit  House 
Hies  merry-hearted.    Human  beings  here 
In  couples  multitudinous  assemble, 
Forming  the  drollest  groups  that  ever  trod 
Fair  Islingtonian  plains.    Male  after  male. 
Dog  after  dog  succeeding  —  husbands,  wives. 
Fathers  and  mothers,  brothers,  sisters,  friends, 
And  pretty  httle  boys  and  girls.     Around, 
Across,  along,  the  gardens'  shrubby  maze, 


344    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

They  walk,  they  sit,  they  stand.    What  crowds  press  on, 

Eager  to  mount  the  stairs,  eager  to  catch 

First  vacant  bench  or  chair  in  long  room  plac'd. 

Here  prig  with  prig  holds  conference  polite, 

And  indiscriminate  the  gaudy  beau 

And  sloven  mix.    Here  he,  who  all  the  week 

Took  bearded  mortals  by  the  nose,  or  sat 

Weaving  dead  hairs,  and  whistling  wretched  strain. 

And  eke  the  sturdy  youth,  whose  trade  it  is 

Stout  oxen  to  contund,  with  gold-bound  hat 

And  silken  stocking  strut.    The  red  arm'd  belle 

Here  shows  her  tasty  gown,  proud  to  be  thought 

The  butterfly  of  fashion:   and  forsooth 

Her  haughty  mistress  deigns  for  once  to  tread 

The  same  unliallow'd  floor.  —  'Tis  hurry  all 

And  rattling  cups  and  saucers.    Waiter  here. 

And  waiter  there,  and  waiter  here  and  there. 

At  once  is  calFd  —  Joe  —  Joe  —  Joe  —  Joe  —  Joe  — 

Joe  on  the  right  —  and  Joe  upon  the  left, 

For  ev'ry  vocal  pipe  re-echoes  Joe. 

Alas,  poor  Joe !    Like  Francis  in  the  play 

He  stands  confounded,  anxious  how  to  please 

The  many-headed  throng.    But  should  I  paint 

The  language,  humours,  custom  of  the  place, 

Together  with  all  curts'ys,  lowly  bows. 

And  compliments  extern,  'twould  swell  my  page 

Beyond  its  limits  due.     Suffice  it  then 

For  my  prophetic  muse  to  say,  '  So  long 

As  fashion  rides  upon  the  wings  of  time. 

While  tea  and  cream,  and  butter'd  rolls  can  please. 

While  rival  beaux  and  jealous  belles  exist. 

So  long.  White  Conduit  House,  shall  be  thy  fame.' " 


other  Favourite  Resorts  345 

More  distinguished  members  of  the  commu- 
nity than  the  London  ^prentice  and  the  *^  red 
arm'd  belle  ''  frequented  the  gardens  now  and 
then.  About  1762  the  place  was  a  favourite 
resort  with  Oliver  Goldsmith,  and  was  the 
scene  of  a  typical  episode  in  his  life.  While 
strolling  in  the  gardens  one  afternoon  he  met 
the  three  daughters  of  a  tradesman  to  whom  he 
was  under  obligation,  and  of  course  must  needs 
invite  them  to  take  tea  as  his  guests.  But  when 
the  time  of  reckoning  came  he  found,  character- 
istically enough,  that  his  pocket  was  empty. 
Happily  some  friends  were  near  to  rescue  him 
from  his  difficulty,  but  the  crucial  moment  of 
the  incident  was  to  be  perpetuated  in  all  its 
ludicrous  humour  by  an  artist  of  a  later  gen- 
eration, who,  in  the  painting  entitled  ^'  An 
Awkward  Position,''  depicted  the  poet  at  the 
moment  when  he  discovered  his  pockets  were 
empty. 

Later  in  its  history  the  White  Conduit  House 
became  known  as  the  ^^  Minor  Vauxhall  ''  and 
was  the  scene  of  balloon  ascents,  fireworks,  and 
evening  concerts.  Gradually,  however,  it  fell 
on  evil  days,  and  in  1849  it  passed  permanently 
into  the  history  of  old  London. 

No  one  traversing  that  sordid  thoroughfare 
known  as  King's  Cross  Road  in  the  London 


346   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

of  to-day  could  imagine  that  that  highway  was 
the  locality  in  the  mid-eighteenth  century  of 
one  of  the  most  popular  resorts  of  the  English 
capital.  Such,  however,  was  the  case.  At  that 
time  the  highway  was  known  as  Bagnigge 
Wells  Road,  and  at  its  northern  extremity  was 
situated  the  resort  known  as  Bagnigge  Wells. 
The  early  history  of  the  place  is  somewhat 
obscure.  Tradition  has  it  that  the  original 
house  was  a  summer  residence  of  Nell  Gwynne, 
where  she  frequently  entertained  her  royal 
lover.  It  has  also  been  stated  that  there  was 
a  place  of  public  entertainment  here  as  early 
as  1738. 

Whatever  truth  there  may  be  in  both  those 
assertions,  there  is  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that 
the  prosperity  of  Bagnigge  Wells  dates  from 
a  discovery  made  by  a  Mr.  Hughes,  the  tenant 
of  the  house,  in  1757.  This  Mr.  Hughes  took 
a  pride  in  his  garden,  and  was  consequently 
much  distressed  to  find  that  the  m-ore  he  used 
his  watering-can  the  less  his  flowers  thrived. 
At  this  juncture  a  Dr.  Bevis  appeared  on  the 
scene,  to  whom  the  curious  circumstance  was 
mentioned.  On  tasting  the  water  from  the  gar- 
den well  he  was  surprised  to  find  its  *'  flavour 
so  near  that  of  the  best  chalybeates,"  and  at 
once  informed  Mr.  Hughes  that  it  might  be 


other  Favourite  Resorts  347 

made  of  great  benefit  both  to  the  public  and 
himself.  The  next  day  a  huge  bottle  of  the 
water  was  delivered  at  Dr.  Bevis^s  house,  and 
analysis  confirmed  his  first  impression.  Before 
he  could  proceed  further  in  the  matter,  Dr. 
Bevis  fell  ill,  and  by  the  time  he  had  recovered 
notable  doings  had  been  accomplished  at  Bag- 
nigge  Wells. 

For  Mr.  Hughes  was  not  wholly  absorbed  in 
the  cultivation  of  flowers.  Visions  of  wealth 
residing  in  that  well  evidently  captured  his 
imagination,  and  he  at  once  set  to  work  fitting 
up  his  gardens  as  a  kind  of  spa,  where  the  pub- 
lic could  drink  for  his  financial  benefit.  A  sec- 
ond well  was  sunk  and  found  to  yield  another 
variety  of  mineral  water,  and  the  two  waters 
were  connected  with  a  double  pump  over  which 
a  circular  edifice  named  the  Temple  was  con- 
structed. Other  attractions  were  added  as 
their  necessity  became  apparent.  They  in- 
cluded a  spacious  banqueting  hall  known  as  the 
Long  Eoom,  provided  with  an  organ,  and  the 
laying  out  of  the  gardens  in  approved  style. 
No  doubt  the  curative  qualities  of  the  waters 
speedily  became  a  secondary  consideration 
with  the  patrons  of  the  place,  but  that  probably 
troubled  Mr.  Hughes  not  at  all  so  long  as  those 
patrons  came  in  sufficient  numbers. 


348   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

That  they  did  come  in  crowds  is  demon- 
strated by  the  literature  which  sprang  up 
around  the  gardens,  and  by  many  other  evi- 
dences. On  its  medicinal  side  the  place  was 
celebrated  by  one  poet  in  these  strains : 

"  Ye  gouty  old  souls  and  rheumatics  crawl  on, 

Here  taste  these  blest  springs,  and  your  tortures  are 

gone; 
Ye  wretches  asthmatick,  who  pant  for  your  breath. 
Come  drink  your  relief,  and  think  not  of  death. 
Obey  the  glad  summons,  to  Bagnigge  repair. 
Drink  deep  of  its  waters,  and  forget  all  your  care. 

"  The  distemper'd  shall  drink  and  forget  all  his  pain, 
When  his  blood  flows  more  briskly  through  every  vein; 
The  headache  shall  vanish,  the  heartache  shall  cease, 
And  your  lives  be  enjoyed  in  more  pleasure  and  peaca 
Obey  then  the  summons,  to  Bagnigge  repair, 
And  drink  an  oblivion  to  pain  and  to  care.'' 

Twenty  years  later  the  muse  of  Bagnigge 
Wells  was  pitched  in  a  different  key.  The  char- 
acter of  the  frequenters  had  changed  for  the 
worse.  Instead  of  ''  gouty  old  souls/'  and 
*'  rheumatics/'  and  ''  asthmaticks,"  the  most 
noted  Cyprians  of  the  day  had  made  the  place 
their  rendezvous.    So  the  poet  sings  of 


It 


Thy  arbours,  Bafi:nis:ge,  and  the  gay  alcove, 

Where  the  frail  nymphs  in  am'rous  dalliance  rove." 


BAGNIGGE    WELLS. 


r     c 


other  Favourite  Resorts  349 

Concurrently  with  this  change  the  gentlemen 
of  the  road  began  to  favour  the  gardens  with 
their  presence,  chief  among  their  number  being 
that  notorious  highwayman  John  Eann,  other- 
wise known  as  Sixteen-String  Jack  from  his 
habit  of  wearing  a  bunch  of  eight  ribbons  on 
each  knee.  But  he  came  to  Bagnigge  once  too 
often,  for,  after  insisting  on  paying  unwelcome 
attentions  to  a  lady  in  the  ball-room,  he  was 
seized  by  some  members  of  the  company  and 
thrown  out  of  a  window  into  the  Fleet  river 
below. 

Notwithstanding  this  deterioration,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  place  in  1779  in  announcing  the 
opening  for  the  season  still  dwelt  upon  the  in- 
valuable properties  of  the  waters,  not  forget- 
ting to  add  that  *^  ladies  and  gentlemen  may 
depend  on  having  the  best  of  Tea,  Coffee,  etc., 
with  hot  loaves,  every  morning  and  evening.'^ 
But  nothing  €Ould  ward  off  the  pending  catas- 
trophe. *^  Bagnigge  Wells,  ^'  wrote  the  histo- 
rian of  its  decline,  ^  ^  sported  its  fountains,  with 
little  wooden  cupids  spouting  water  day  and 
night,  but  it  fearfully  realized  the  facilis  de- 
scensus Averni.  The  gardens  were  curtailed 
of  their  fair  proportions,  and  this  once  famous 
resort  sank  down  to  a  threepenny  concert- 
room.*'     It  struggled  on  in  that  lowly  guise 


350   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

for  a  number  of  years,  but  the  end  came  in 
1841,  and  now  even  the  name  of  the  road  in 
which  it  existed  is  wiped  off  the  map  of  London. 

More  fortunate  in  that  respect  was  the  Ber- 
mondsey  Spa,  the  name  of  which  is  perpetuated 
to  this  day  in  the  Spa  Road  of  that  malodorous 
neighbourhood.  This  resort,  which,  like  Bag- 
nigge  Wells,  owed  its  creation  to  the  discovery 
of  a  chalybeate  spring,  is  bound  up  with  the 
life-story  of  a  somewhat  remarkable  man, 
Thomas  Keyse  by  name.  Born  in  1722,  he 
became  a  self-taught  artist  of  such  skill  that 
several  of  his  still-life  paintings  were  deemed 
worthy  of  exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy. 
He  was  also  awarded  a  premium  of  thirty 
guineas  by  the  Society  of  Arts  for  a  new 
method  of  fixing  crayon  drawings. 

But  thirty  guineas  and  the  glory  of  being 
an  exhibitor  at  the  Royal  Academy  were  hardly 
adequate  for  subsistence,  and  hence,  some- 
where about  1765,  Keyse  turned  to  the  less  dis- 
tinguished but  more  profitable  occupation  of 
tavern-keeper.  Having  purchased  the  Water- 
man ^s  Arms  at  Bermondsey,  with  some  adjoin- 
ing waste  land,  he  transformed  the  place  into 
a  tea-garden.  Shortly  afterwards  a  chalybeate 
spring  was  discovered  in  the  grounds,  an  event 
which  obliterated  the  name  of  the  Waterman's 


other  Favourite  Resorts  351 


Arms  in  favour  of  the  Bermondsey  Spa  Grar- 
dens.  The  ground  was  duly  laid  out  in  pleas- 
ant walks,  with  the  usual  accompaniments  of 
leafy  arbours  and  other  quiet  nooks  for  tea- 
parties.  The  next  step  was  to  secure  a  music 
license,  fit  up  an  orchestra,  adorn  the  trees  with 
coloured  lamps,  organize  occasional  displays  of 
fireworks,  and  challenge  comparison  with  Vaux- 
hall  if  only  on  a  small  scale.  One  of  the  attrac- 
tions reserved  for  special  occasion  was  a  scenic 
representation  of  the  Siege  of  Gibraltar,  in 
which  fireworks,  transparencies,  and  bomb 
shells  played  a  prominent  part.  Keyse  himself 
was  responsible  for  the  device  by  which  the 
idea  was  carried  out,  and  the  performance  was 
so  realistic  that  it  was  declared  to  give  ' '  a  very 
strong  idea  of  the  real  Siege. ' ' 

Hearty  as  were  the  plaudits  bestowed  upon 
the  Siege  of  Gibraltar,  there  is  not  much  risk 
in  hazarding  the  opinion  that  Keyse  took  more 
pride  in  the  picture-gallery  of  his  own  paint- 
ings than  in  any  other  feature  of  his  establish- 
ment. The  canvases  included  representations 
of  all  kinds  of  still  life,  and,  thanks  to  the 
recording  pen  of  J.  T.  Smith,  that  enthusiastic 
lover  of  old  London,  it  is  still  possible  to  make 
the  round  of  the  gallery  in  the  company  of  the 
artist-proprietor.     Mr.  Smith  visited  the  gar- 


352    Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

dens  when  public  patronage  had  declined  to  a 
low  ebb,  so  that  he  had  the  gallery  all  to  him- 
self, as  he  imagined.  ^ '  Stepping  back  to  study 
the  picture  of  the  ^  Greenstall,'  ^  I  ask  your 
pardon,'  said  I,  for  I  had  trodden  on  some 
one's  toes.  ^  Sir,  it  is  granted,'  replied  a  little, 
thick-set  man  with  a  round  face,  arch  looks,  and 
close-curled  wig,  surmounted  by  a  small  three- 
cornered  hat  put  very  knowingly  on  one  side, 
not  unlike  Hogarth's  head  in  his  print  of  the 

*  Gates  of  Calais.'  *  You  are  an  artist,  I  pre- 
sume ;  I  noticed  you  from  the  end  of  the  gallery, 
when  you  first  stepped  back  to  look  at  my  best 
picture.  I  painted  all  the  objects  in  this  room 
from  nature  and  still  life.'  ^  Your  Green- 
grocer's Shop,'  said  I,  ^  is  inimitable;  the  drops 
of  water  on  that  savoy  appear  as  if  they  had 
just  fallen  from  the  element.  Van  Huysun 
could  not  have  pencilled  them  with  greater  deli- 
cacy.' ^  Wliat  do  you  think,'  said  he,  ^  of  my 
Butcher's  Shop!  '  *  Your  pluck  is  bleeding 
fresh,  and  your  sweetbread  is  in  a  clean  plate. ' 

*  How  do  you  like  my  bull's  eye?  '  *  Why,  it 
would  be  a  most  excellent  one  for  Adams  or 
Dolland  to  lecture  upon.  Your  knuckle  of  veal 
is  the  finest  I  ever  saw.'  ^  It's  young  meat,' 
replied  he;  *  any  one  who  is  a  judge  of  meat 
can  tell  that  from  the  blueness  of  its  bone.' 


other  Favourite  Resorts  353 


'  What  a  beautiful  white  you  have  used  on  the 
fat  of  that  Southdown  leg!   or  is  it  Bagshot?  ' 
'  Yes,'  said  he,  '  my  solitary  visitor,  it  is  Bag- 
shot:'   and  as  for  my  white,  that  is  the  best 
Nottingham,  which  you  or  any  artist  can  pro- 
cure  at    Stone    and   Puncheon's,   Bishopsgate 
Street  Within.'     '  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds,'  con- 
tinued Mr.  Keyse,  '  paid  me  two  visits.     On 
the  second,  he  asked  me  what  white  I  had  used; 
and  when  I  told  him,  he  observed,  ^^  It's  very 
extraordinary,  sir,  that  it  keeps  so  bright.     I 
use  the  same."    ''  Not  at  all,  sir,"  I  rejoined: 
''  the  doors  of  this  gallery  are  open  day  and 
night ;  and  the  admission  of  fresh  air,  together 
with  the  great  expansion  of  light   from  the 
sashes  above,  will  never  suffer  the  white  to  turn 

yellow."  '"  .         . 

And  then  the  enthusiastic  artist  and  his  soli- 
tary patron  walked  out  to  the  orchestra  in  the 
gardens,  sole  auditors  of  the  singer  who  had 
to  sing  by  contract  whether  few  or  many  were 
present.  It  is  a  pathetic  record,  portending 
the  final  closing  of  Bermondsey  Spa  but  a  few 

years  later. 

On  the  return  journey  to  Southwark,  the 
Southwark  of  Chaucer's  Tabard,  the  pilgrim 
among  these  memories  of  the  past  may  tread 
the  ground  where  Finch's  Grotto  Gardens  once 


354   Inns  and  Taverns  of  Old  London 

re-echoed  to  laughter  and  song.  They  were 
established  in  1760  by  one  Thomas  Finch,  who 
was  of  the  fraternity  of  Thomas  Keyse,  even 
though  he  was  but  a  Herald  Painter.  Falling 
heir  to  a  house  and  pleasant  garden,  encircled 
with  lofty  trees  and  umbrageous  with  ever- 
greens and  shrubs,  he  decided  to  convert  the 
place  into  a  resort  for  public  amusement.  The 
adornments  consisted  of  a  grotto,  built  over 
a  mineral  spring,  and  a  fountain,  and  an  or- 
chestra, and  an  Octagon  Room  for  balls  and 
refuge  from  wet  evenings.  The  vocalists  in- 
cluded Sophia  Snow,  afterwards  as  Mrs.  Bad- 
deley  to  become  notorious  for  her  beauty  and 
frailty,  and  Thomas  Lowe,  the  one-time  favour- 
ite of  Vauxhall,  whose  financial  failure  at 
Marylebone  made  him  thankful  to  accept  an 
engagement  at  this  more  lowly  resort.  But 
Finch's  Grotto  Gardens  were  not  destined  to 
a  long  life.  Perhaps  they  were  too  near  Vaux- 
hall to  succeed ;  perhaps  the  policy  of  engaging 
had-been  favourites  was  as  little  likely  to 
bring  prosperity  in  the  eighteenth  as  in  the 
twentieth  century.  Whatever  the  cause,  the 
fact  is  on  record  that  after  a  career  of  less  than 
twenty  years  the  gardens  ceased  to  exist. 

As  has  been  seen  in  an  earlier  chapter,  the 
great  prototype  of  the  pleasure  gardens  of  old 


B 

P 
O 

O 

H 

O 
O 

CO 

o 


I 


other  Favourite  Resorts  355 


London,  Vauxhall,  outlived  all  its  competitors 
for  half  a  century.    But  upon  even  that  favour- 
ite resort  the  changing  manners  of  a  new  time 
had  fatal  effect.    As  knowledge  grew  and  taste 
became  more  diversified,  it  became  less  and  less 
easy  to  cater  for  the  amusement  of  the  many. 
To  the  student  of  old-time  manners,  however, 
the  history  of  the  out-door  resorts  of  old  Lon- 
don is  full  of  instruction  and  suggestion,  if  only 
for  the  light  it  throws  on  those  ''  struggles  for 
happiness  ''    which   help    to    distinguish   man 
from  the  brute  creation. 


THE   END. 


' 


1 


INDEX 


**  A  Cup  of  Coffee,  or  Coffee  in 
its  Colours,"  166. 

Adam  and  Eve  Tavern,  153, 
154. 

Adam,  the  brothers,  108. 

Addison,  Joseph,  74,  178,  181, 
183,  187,  215,  216,  217,  219, 
220,  227,  233,  246,  295,  304. 

Adelphi  hotel,  108,  109,  110. 

iVix-la-Chapelle,  Peace  of,  318. 

Alice's  coffee-house,  236,  237, 
238 

Alfred  Club,  287. 

Almack,  William,  275. 

Almack's,  275,  276. 

"  Amelia,"  297,  298,  331. 

Anderson,  Mrs.,  223. 

Anderton's  Hotel,  78. 

Angel  Inn,  Fleet  Street,  101. 

Angel  Inn,  Islington,  157,  158. 

Anne,  Queen,  113,  143,  173, 
228,  282. 

Annual  register,  178,  218,  308, 
333. 

Anstey's  "  Pleaders'  Guide," 
121. 

Apollo  room  at  the  Devil  tav- 
ern, 94,  95,  98,  99,  100. 

Archer,  Mrs.  Mary,  127. 

Argyll,  Duke  of,  255. 

Aristophanes,  133. 

Armstrong,  Dr.  John,  207- 

Arnold,  Dr.  Samuel,  339. 

Arthur's  Club,  287,  288. 
Arthur,  Mr.,  268,  269. 
Athenaeum  Club,  267. 

Bacon,  Anthony,  48. 
Baddeley,  Mrs.,  354. 


Bagnigge  Wells,  346-350. 
Bailley,  Christian,  6. 
Bailley,  Henry,  6,  10. 
Barrington,  Hon.  Daines,  262. 
Barrington,  Sir  Jonas,  222. 
Bartholomew  Fair,   156,  157. 
Bartholomew,      Robert,      342, 

343. 
Bate,    Henry,    108,    109,    230, 

231. 
Bath,     Installation      of      the 

Knights  of,  333. 
Batson's  coffee-house,  173,  174, 

175,  176,  185. 
Bear  inn,  14,  15,  16,  17,  18,  19, 

20,  21. 
Beauclerk,  Lady  Sydney,  137, 

138. 
Beauclerk,  Topham,  137,  207, 

256,  257,  259,  276,  322. 
Beaufort,  Duchess  of,  247. 
Beaumont,  Francis,  55. 
Becket,  Thomas  a^,  4,  5,  14. 
Bedford  coffee-house,  205,  206. 
Bedford,  Duke  of,  219,  224. 
Bedford     Head    tavern,     117, 

118,  119. 
Beeswing  Club,  The,  224. 
Beef    Steak    Club,    282,  283, 

284. 
Bell  tavern,  141,  142,  143. 
Belle  Sauvage  inn,  73,  74,  75, 

76,  77. 
Bermondsey  Spa  Gardens,  350- 

353. 
Bevis,  Dr.,  346,  347. 
Bickerstaff,  Sir  Isaac,  181. 
Bishopsgate     Street     Within, 
inns  of,  47. 


357 


358 


Index 


Bishopsgate    Street    Without, 

inns  of,  50,  51. 
Blackmore,  Sir  Richard,   173, 

174. 
Bloomfield,  Robert,  332. 
Blount,  Sir  Henry,  164. 
Blue  Boar  inn,  7u,  71,  72. 
Blue  Posts  tavern,  148,  149. 
Blue-Stocking  Club,  250,  251, 

253,  255. 
Boar's  Head    inn,    Eastcheap, 

30,  31,  33,  34,  35,  36,  37,  38. 
Boar's  Head  inn,   Southwark, 

21,  22. 
Boehm,  Mr.,  197. 
Boileau's  Lutrin,  212. 
Bolinbroke,  Viscount,  202. 
Boodle's  Club,  284,  285. 
Bordeaux,  merchants  of,  39. 
Boswell,  James,  30,  33,  63,  81, 

88,  89,  90,  91,  103,  104,  105, 

117,  130,  255,  256,  259,  260, 

262,  263,  323. 
Bowen,  William,  52,  53. 
Bowman,  Mrs.,  164. 
Bramble,  Matt.,  324,  331. 
British  coffee-house,  223,  224. 
British  Institution,  132,  133. 
Broghill,  Lord,  70. 
Bronte,  Anne,  191,  192. 
Bronte,  Charlotte,^  191,  192. 
Brooks's  Club,    271,    274,  276, 

277,  278,  280,  286. 
Brown,  Tom,  306. 
Buchan,  Dr.,  264. 
Buckingham,  Duke  of,  337. 
Bull  and  Gate  inn,  69,  70. 
Bull  Head  tavern,  57. 
Bull  inn,  4§. 
Burke,  Edmund,  202,  252,  256, 

258,  260,  275. 
Burney,  Dr.,  261. 
Burney,  Fanny,  252,  253. 
Burton's,     Thomas,     "  Parlia- 
mentary Diary,"  141. 
Button's  coffee-house,  209,  216, 

217,  218.  219,  220,  221. 
Buttony,  Daniel,  215,  217,  220. 
Byron,  Lord,  145,  146,  147. 


Byron,    Lord,    the   poet,    146, 

287. 

Cade,  Jack,  24,  25,  26,  27,  29. 
"  Calamities    and  Quarrels    of 

Authors,"  325. 
Calf's  Head  Club,  147. 
Campbell,  Lord,  150,  224. 
Campbell,  Thomas,  121. 
Cannon  coffee-house,  222. 
Canterbury,  5,  10. 
Canterbury  Tales,  7,  8,  9,  13. 
Cambridge  carriers,  48,  49. 
Carlisle,  Lord,  298. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  141. 
Cat,    Christopher,     244,     245, 

249. 
Catley,  Nan,  338. 
Chamier,  Anthony,  256,  257. 
Chapter  coffee-house,  187,  189, 

190,  191,  192. 
Charnock,  Robert,  149. 
Charing  Cross,  coffee-houses  of, 

222. 
Charing  Cross,  inns  of,  110. 
Charles  I,  16,  44,  57,  70,  72,  73, 

147,  341. 
Charles  II,   20,   21,    125,    142, 

165. 
Charles  V,  58. 
Chatelaine's,  124,  125,  126. 
Chatterton,  Thomas,  180,  190. 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8, 

9,  11,  13,  189,  353. 
Chaworth,  William,   145,   146, 

147. 
Cheapside  Cross,  57. 
Cheshire  Cheese,  79,  80,  81,  82, 

83 
Chesterfield,  Lord,  318. 
Child's  coffee-house,  186,  187, 

192. 
Chinaman,      Goldsmith's,      at 

Vauxhall,  304,  305. 
Christ's  Hospital,  66,  67. 
Churchill,  Lady  Mary,  247. 
Gibber,  Colley,   128,  211,  219, 

220. 
Cicero,  133. 


Index 


359 


Cider  Cellars,  120,  121,  122. 

"Citizen  of  the  World,"  322. 

Claypole,  Elizabeth,  235. 

Club,  definition  of,  267,  268. 

Clubs  of  old  London,  243. 

Club,  The,  255,  256,  257,  259, 
260,  261,  262. 

Clutterback,  James,  62. 

Cock  tavern,  Fleet  Street,  83, 
84,  85,  86,  87,  88. 

Cock  tavern,  Leadenhall  Street, 
46. 

Cock  tavern,  Suffolk  Street, 
147. 

Cocoa-Tree  Club,  228,  229, 
230,  231,  232,  233. 

Cofifee,  164,  166. 

**  Coffee  House,  The  Character 
of,"  167,  168,  169. 

Coffee-houses  in  London,  163; 
first  to  be  opened,  163,  164; 
subject  of  a  play,  166;  pam- 
phlets for  and  against,  167, 

168,  169,  170;  petition 
against,  171;  proclamation 
suppressing,  172;  influenced 
by  locality,  173. 

"  Coffee,     Women's     Petition 

against,"  171,  172. 
"  Coffee    House    Vindicated," 

169,  170. 

Coleridge,   S.   T.,    65,    66,    67, 

150. 
Colin,  Farmer,  297. 
Collier's,       Jeremy,       "  Short 

View,"  52. 
Congers,  The,  187,  188,  189. 
Connoisseur,    The,     174,     175, 

176,  187,  206,  301,  306,  331. 
Cony,  Nathaniel,  149. 
"  Country  Mouse  and  the  City 

Mouse,"  212,  213. 
Covent   Garden,   coffee-houses 

of,  205. 
Covent    Garden,    taverns    of, 

124,   125. 
Coverley,  Sir  Roger  de,  295. 
Cowley,  Abraham,  93. 
Cowper,  William,  197,  198. 


Craven  Head  inn,  103. 
Crown  and  Anchor,   103,   104, 

105,  106,  107. 
Cromwell,   Oliver,    70,   71,   72, 

73,  235. 
Cruikshank,  George,  153. 
Cumberland,  Duke  of,  286. 
Cumberland,  Richard,  254. 
Cuper's  Gardens,  136,  137. 
Curran,  John  Philpot,  222. 
Cuthbert,  Captain,  151. 

Dagger  tavern,  68,  69. 

"  Dark  Walks  "  of  Vauxhall, 
299,  300,  306. 

Davidson,  John,  82. 

Davies,  Thomas,  104. 

"  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Ro- 
man Empire,"  109,  110. 

Defoe,  Daniel,  64. 

De  Moivre,  Abraham,  225. 

Devil  tavern,  93,  94,  95,  96,  97, 
98,  99,  100,  101. 

Devonshire,  Duke  of,  286. 

Dibdin,  Charles,  330. 

Dickens,  Charles,  29,  152,  155, 
156. 

Dick's  coffee-house,  197,  198. 

Dolly's  chop-house,  64,  65. 

Don   Saltero's   coffee-house, 
238,  239,  240. 

Dorset,  Duke  of,  273. 

Dorset,  Earl  of,  115. 

Douglas,  Bishop,  223. 

Dover  House  Club,  286. 

Drinkwater,  Thomas,  15. 

Drummond,  William,  98. 

Drury  Lane,  inns  of,  115,  116. 

Dryden,  John,  64,  98,  210,  211, 
212,  213,  214,  215. 

Dudley,  Lord,  287. 

D'Urfey,  Thomas,  248,  249. 
Dutton,  John,  124. 

Edward  VI,  92. 
Edwards,  Mrs.,  164. 
Egan,  Pierce,  153,  304. 
Elephant    and    Castle   tavern, 
158. 


360 


Inde: 


Elephant  tavern,  43. 
Elizabeth,   Queen,   12,  42,  43, 

92. 
England,  John,  139,  140. 
E  O  tables,  274. 
Essex,  Lord,  140. 
Essex  Street  Club,  262,  2G3. 
Ethrage,  Sir  George,  112,  113. 
Evans,  Widow,  137. 
Evelyn,    Jolin,    60,    100,    147, 

164. 

Falcon  tavern,  159. 
Falkner,  Mary  Ann,  337. 
Falstaff,  Sir  John,  22,  23,  30, 

32,  33,  34,  35,  38,  169. 
Farr,  James,  92, 
Fastolfe,  Sir  John,  21,  22,  23. 
Fantom,  Captain,  116. 
Feather's  tavern,  136,  137,  138. 
Fielding,   Henry,   64,   69,   2o5, 

207,  297,  298,  299,  309. 
Finch's  Grotto  Gardens,   353, 

354. 
Finch,  Thomas,  354. 
Fireworks    at    Vauxhall,    SCO; 

at  Ranelagh,  330;    at  Mary- 

lebone,    339;     at    Bermond- 

sey  Spa  Gardens,  351, 
FitzGerald,  Edward,  87. 
"  Fitzgerald,    Fighting,"    230, 

231,  280,  281,  282. 
Fleece  tavern,  126,  127. 
Fleet  Street,  taverns  of,  62,  77, 

78. 
Ford,  Parson,  130,  131. 
Foote,  Samuel,  90,  91,  132, 133, 

205. 
Fortune  Theatre,  59. 
Fountain  tavern,  246. 
Fountayne,  Dr.,  339. 
Fox,  Charles  James,  105,  106, 

256,  261,  272,  275,  276,  278, 

279. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  186,  193. 
Froude,    James   Anthony,    75, 

76. 
Fuller,  Isaac,  45,  46. 
Fuller,  Thomas,  22. 


Garraway's  coffee-house,    176, 

177. 
Garraway,  Thomas,  177. 
Garrick,    David,    62,    63,    180, 
205,  251,  256,  258,  259,  260, 
313,  326. 
Garth,  Sir  Samuel,  247,  248, 

249. 
Gaskell,  Mrs.,  191. 
Gay,  John,  117. 
Gentleman's  Magazine,  343. 
George  I,  245,  249. 
George  IL,  269. 
George  III,  107,  196. 
George's  coffee-house,  203,  204. 

206, 
George  inn,  23,  24. 
Gibbon,  Edward,  108, 109,  110, 
228,  229,  256,  257,  276,  284, 
285,  286. 
Gibbons,  Grinling,  76. 
Gibraltar,  Siege  of,  351, 
Gifford's,  V\  illiam.  Life  of  Ben 

Jonson,  54. 
Gillray,  James,  275. 
Golden  Cross  tavern,  110,  111. 
Golden  Eagle  tavern,  147. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  31,  33,  34, 
38,  76,  78,  79,  81,  89,  190, 
'203,  204,  225,  228,  234,  256, 
257,  260,  304,  322,  324,  345. 
Goose  and  Gridiron,  62,  63,  64. 
Gordon,  George,  224. 
Gough,  Daniel,  337. 
Grant,  Andrew,  224. 
Gray,  Thomas,  321,  322. 
Grecian  coffee-house,  200,  201, 

202,  203. 
Green,  J.  R.,  8,  9. 
Green  Ribbon  Club,  93. 
Gregorie,  Robert,  138, 
Gresham,  Sir  Thomas,  92. 
Grimes,  Jack,  116. 
Guardian,  The,  216,  218,  219. 
Guildhall  Museum,  34,  38, 
Gwynne,  Nell,  346. 

Hackman,  James,  206,  207. 
Plal,  Prince,  31,  32, 


Index 


361 


Hales,  John,  17. 

Hales,  Robert,  103. 

Halifax,    Earl    of,    247,    248, 
337. 

Hall,  Jacob,  19. 

Halley,  Professor,  203. 

Hamilton,  Lord  Spencer,  329, 
330. 

Hand  and  Shears  tavern,  156, 
157. 

Handel,  George  Frederick,  339. 

Hanover  Club,  245. 

Harley,  Edward,  Earl  of  Ox- 
ford,  194. 

Harper,  Bishop,  101. 

Harrington,  James,  235,  236. 

Harvard,  John,  21. 

Haslam,  Dr.,  224. 

Hawkins,  Sir  John,  256. 

Henry  II,  5. 

Henry  III,  68. 

Henry  IV,  31,  36. 

Henry  V,  23. 

Henry  VI,  25,  26. 

Henry  VIII,  314,  315. 

Herrick,  Robert,  57,  58. 

Hill,  Aaron,  220,  221. 

Hill,  Dr.  John,  218,  325,  326, 
327. 

Hobson,  Thomas,  48,  49. 

Hogarth,  William,  43,  44,  60, 
61,  93,  115,  154,  158,  296. 

Holborn,  inns  of,  68,  69,  72. 

Holland,  Lord,  276. 

Horden,  Hildebrand,  128. 

Horn  tavern,  78. 

Horseshoe  tavern,  116. 

Horseshoe  tavern,  Covent  Gar- 
den, 124. 

Howard,  Lord,  76. 

Howard,  Major-General,  141. 

Howard,  Sir  John,  15,  16. 

Howell,  James,  "  Familiar  Let- 
ters "  of,  49,  50. 

Hughes,  Mr.,  346,  347. 

Hummums   tavern,    128,    129, 
130. 

Humphries,  Miss,  195. 

*'  Humphry  Clinker,"  65. 


Hunt's,  Leigh,  "The  Town," 

111,  113,  129. 
Hyde,  Abbot  of,  4,  12. 
Hyde,  Lady,  248. 

Inspector,  The,  218,  326. 
Irving,  Washington,  36,  37,  38. 

Jacobites,  115,  116,  149,  179, 
229,  313. 

James  I,  50,   111. 

James  III,   180. 

Jay,  Cyrus,  81. 

Jerusalem  coflee-house,  179. 

Jessop's,   117. 

Jonathan's  coffee-house,  177, 
178. 

John's  coffee-house,   179,   180. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  30,  62, 
63,  79,  80,  81,  88,  89,  90,  91, 
103,  104,  105,  117,  130,  137, 
138,  174,  189,  207,  211,  252, 
255,  256,  258,  259,  260,  261, 
262,  263,  267,  309,  322,  323, 
339,  340. 

Jones,  Sir  William,  256,  260. 

Jones,  WiUiam,  314,  315,  316. 

Jonson,  Ben,  39,  40,  54,  55,  57, 
58,  68,  69,  88,  93,  94,  95,  96, 
98,  99,  100,  111,  140,  166. 

Keate,  Roger,  138. 
Keats,  John,  55,  56. 
Kenrick,  William,  190. 
Kensington,    South,    Museum^ 

51. 

Keyse,  Thomas,  350,  351,  353, 
354. 

Killigrew,  Harry,  293. 

King's  coiTee-house,  205,  207. 

King,  Thomas,  207. 

King's  Head  tavern.  Fen- 
church  Street,  42. 

King's  Head  tavern^  Fleet 
Street,  92,  93. 

King  John's  Palace,  153. 

Kingston,  Lord,  249. 

King  Street,  Westminster,  tav- 
erns of,  139. 


362 


Index 


Kit-Cat   Club,   243,   244,   245, 

246,  249,  282. 
Kit-Cat  portraits,  246. 
Knapp,  Mrs.,  83,  84. 

Lacy,  James,  313. 
Laguerre,  Louis,  116,  117. 
Lamb,  Charles,  65,  66,  67. 
Lambe,  John,  59. 
Lambert,  George,  283. 
Langton,  Bennet,  137,  256. 
Lee,  Sidney,  23. 
Leg  tavern,  141,  142. 
Leslie,  Charles  Robert,  193. 
Lill,  William,  236,  237. 
Lincolnshire,  Fens  of,  178. 
Lion's  Head  at  Button's  cof- 
fee-house, 217,  218,  219. 
*'  Lives  of  the  English  Poets," 

189,   190. 
Lloyd,  Charles,  190. 
Lloyd's  coffee-house,  173,  180, 

181,  182,  183. 
Lloyd,  Edward,  180,  181. 
Lloyd,  Sir  Philip,  199. 
Locket's,   110,   111,   112,   113, 

126. 
Locket,  Adam,  113. 
Locket,  Mrs.,  112,  113. 
Lockier,  Francis,  211,  212. 
London  Bridge^  3,  15,  21,  23, 

26,  38,  75. 
London  cofTee-house,  193. 
London,  Fire  of,  34,  45,  51,  63, 

79,  83,  292. 
London,  Plague  of,  44,  45,  49, 

158. 
London  tavern,  42. 
Long's  tavern,   148. 
Lonsdale,  Earl  of,  151,  204. 
Loughborough,  Lady,  273. 
Loughborough,  Lord,  273. 
Louis  XVI,  261. 
Lowe,  Thomas,  338,  354. 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  7. 
Lowther,  Sir  James,  204. 
Lunsford,  Colonel,   139. 
Lupton,  Donald,  335. 
Lyttelton,  Lord,  271. 


Macaulay,  Lord,  1 15,  209. 
"Mac  Flecknoe,"  211,  212. 
Macklin,  Charles,  131,  132,  133, 

134,  135,  202. 
Mackreth,  Robert,  269. 
Maiden     Lane     taverns,    119, 

120. 
Malone,  Edmund,  257,  258. 
Man,  Alexander,  222,  223. 
Man's  coffee-house,  222,  223. 
Manchester,  Lady,  246. 
Marlborough,  Duchess  of,  228. 
Marvell,  Andrew,  119. 
Marylebone  Gardens,  336-341. 
Maxwell,  Dr.,  91. 
Medici,  Mary  de,  57. 
Melford,  Lydia,  306,  307,  325. 
Mermaid     tavern,     Cheapside, 

53,  54,  55,  56,  57,  94. 
Mermaid  tavern,  Cornhill,  53. 
"  Mermaid  Tavern,  Lines  on," 

56. 
Miles 's  coffee-house,  235. 
Mitre  tavern,  Cheapside,  57. 
Mitre  tavern,  Fenchurch  Street, 

44,  45. 
Mitre  tavern.  Fleet  Street,  88, 

89,  90,  91. 
Monmouth,  Duke  of,  125. 
Montagu,  Captain,  179,  180. 
Montagu,    Lady   Mary   Wort- 
ley,  249,  250. 
Montagu,  Mrs.,  250,  251,  252, 

253,  254. 
More,  Hannah,  251. 
Morris,  Captain,  106. 
Mounsey,  Dr.,  104. 
Mozart,  W.  A.,  330. 

Nag's  Head  tavern,  Cheapside, 

57. 
Nag's     Head     tavern,     Drury 

Lane,   116. 
Nando's  coffee-house,  195,  196, 

197   198. 
Nash,' Beau,  228. 
Newport,  Young,  293,  294. 
New  Spring  Gardens,  291. 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  203,  225. 


Index 


363 


Norfolk,    Duke    of,    105,    lOG, 

107. 
North,  Dudley,   107. 
North,  Lord,  278. 
Northumberland,  Duke  of,  104. 
Nottinghamshire  Club,  144. 

Gates,  Titus,  93,  198,  199. 
Observer,  The,  254. 
"  Oceana,"  235. 
October  Club,  143. 
Oldisworth,  William,  193,  194. 
Orford,  Lord,  204. 
Ormonde,  Marquis  of,  312. 
Oxford,  Earl  of,  193,  194,  268. 

Pall  Mall  taverns,  143. 

Pantheon,  The,  285,  323. 

"  Paradise  Lost,"  209. 

Paris  Garden,  335. 

Paterson,  James,  62. 

Pellett,  Dr.,  131. 

Pembroke,  Earl  of,  148,  149. 

Pepys,  Mrs.,  83,  84. 

Pepys,  Samuel,  19,  20,  40,  41, 
44,  45,  51,  52,  83,  84,  88,  100, 
125,  126,  127,  141,  142,  14.3, 
166,  167,  210,  291,  292,  293, 
294,  336. 

Percy,  Dr.,  104,  105,  256. 

Petres,  Lord,  272. 

Philips,  Ambrose,  220. 

Phillips,  Sir  Richard,  265. 

"  Pickwick  Papers,"  28,  29. 

Pierce,  Mrs.,  83. 

Pie-Powder  Court,  156,  157. 

Pindar,  Sir  Paul,  49,  50,  51. 

Pindar,   Sir  Paul,  tavern,   50, 

51. 
Pindar,  Peter,  129,  130. 
Pitt,  Colonel,  231. 
Pitt's  Head  tavern,  151. 
Pitt,  William,  231,  288. 
Poins,  32. 

Pontack's,  59,  60,  61,  111,  126. 
Pope,  Alexander,  64,  117,  205, 

219,  220,  271. 
Pope's  Head  tavern,  51,  52,  53. 
Porson,  Richard,  120,  121. 


Portland,  Duke  of,  193. 

Preston,  Robert,  37. 

Price,  Dr.  Richard,  186. 

Priestly,  Dr.,  193. 

"  Prince  Alfred,"  173,  174. 

Prior,  Matthew,  114,  115,  212, 

227. 
Prior,  Samuel,,  114. 

Queen's  Arms  tavern,  62,  63. 
Queensbury,  Duchess  of,  196. 
Quickly,  Dame,  33,  35,  36,  37, 

38. 
Quin,  James,  52,  53,  205. 

Rainbow  tavern,  91,  92,   172, 

198,   199. 
Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  54. 
Ranelagh,   312-334;    Rotunda 

at,   314-317;    fete   at,   318; 

amusements  of,  324;  riot  at, 

327,  328;  poem  on,  332,  333; 

closing  of,  333. 
Ranelagh,  Earl  of,  312,  313. 
Rann,  John,  349. 
Rawlinson,  Dan,  44. 
Rawlinson,  Mrs.,  45. 
Rawthmell's  coffee-house,  205, 

207. 
Ray,  Martha,  206,  207. 
Red  Lion  inn,  72,  73. 
"  Retaliation,"  234. 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  80,  103, 

252,  255,  256,  257,  258,  259, 

262,  276,  322,  353. 
Rich,  John,  282. 
Richard  II,  6. 
Richardson,  Samuel,  65. 
Richmond,  Duke  of,  20,  21. 
Ridley,  Bishop,  57. 
Robinson,    Sir    Thomas,    313, 

314. 
Rochester,  Lord,  214. 
Rock,  Richard,  76,  77. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  253. 
Rosee,  Pasqua,  164,  165,  172, 

177. 
Rose  tavern,  127,  128,  337. 
Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  91. 


364 


Index 


Rota  Club,  235,  236. 
Rousseau,  J.  J.,  90. 
Rowlandson,  Thomas,  59,  179, 

274. 
Rummer  tavern,  113,  114,  115. 

St.  Albans,  Duchess  of,  247. 
St.  Alban's  tavern,  143,  144. 
St.  James's  coffee-house,  200, 

233,  234. 
St.  James's  Palace,  196. 
St.  Paul's  churchyard,  62,  63, 

64. 
St.    Paul's    coffee-house,    185, 

186,   192. 
Salter,  Jam-.--"'S.  239,  240. 
Salutation  tav.  ^^.  66,  67. 

Sam's  coffee-house,  a.;7,  178. 
Sanchy,  Mr.,   127. 
Sandwich,  Earl  of,  206. 
Saqui,  Mme.,  300. 
Saracen's  Head  tavern.  Snow 

Hill,  155,  156. 
"  Sarrazin's  Head,"  Westmin- 
ster,  138,   155. 
Savage,  Richard,  221. 
Scott,  Peter,  139. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  41. 
Sedley,  Sir  Charles,  127. 
Sedley,  Jos.,  309,  310. 
Selden,  John,  156. 
Selwyn,  George,  233,  269,  271, 

272,  273,  277,  278,  279,  286, 

288. 
Shadwell,  Thomas,  126. 
Shakespeare,  William,  21,  22, 

23,  26,  30,  31,  33,  34,  36,  38, 

88,  159. 
Sharp,  Rebecca,  309,  310. 
Sheffield,  Lord,  110. 
Shepherd,  George,   12. 
Sheridan,  R.  B.,  106,  205,  256, 

279,  280. 
Ship  and  Turtle  tavern,  46,  47. 
Slaughter's  coffee-house,  225. 
Slaughter,  Thomas,  225. 
Sloane,  Sir  Hans,  203. 
Smith,  Adam,  256. 
Smith,  Captain  John,  156. 


Smith,  J.  T.,  351. 

Smollett,  Tobias,  64,  65,  306, 

322,  324,  325. 
Smyrna  coffee-house,  226,  227, 

228. 
Snow,  Sophia,  354. 
Somerset  coffee-house,  205. 
Southey,  Robert,  65,  66. 
South  Sea  Bubble,  178. 
Southwark,  map  of,  1;    mean- 
ing of  name,  2;    inns  of,  3; 

Tabard  inn,  3;  Bear  inn,  14; 

fair  of,  19;  Boar's  Head  inn, 

21;    George  inn,  23;    White 

Hart  inn,  24. 
Spectator,  The,  74,   178,   182, 

183,  186,  187,  233,  295. 
Spenser,  Edmund,  140,  141. 
Spotted  Dog  inn,  103. 
Staple  inn,  68. 
Star  and  Garter  tavern,   143, 

144. 
Steele,  Sir  Richard,  100,   101, 

181,  200,  215,  216,  217,  219, 

226,  227,  238,  239,  240,  249. 
Steevens,  George,  339. 
Stella,  Journal  to,  144,  227. 
Stevens,     George     Alexander, 

121,  122. 
Stewart,  Admiral  Keith,  280, 

281. 
Stewart,  General  William,  231. 
Stillingfleet,  Benjamin,  251. 
Stony,  Captain,  108,  109. 
Stow,  John,  4,  11,  24,  39,  47, 

51,  103,  141. 
Strand,  Inns  and  taverns  of, 

102. 
Strype,  John,  103. 
Stuart,  Frances,  20,  21. 
Suckling,  Sir  John,  17,  18. 
Suffolk  Street  taverns,  147. 
Swan  inn,  110,  111. 
Swift,  Jonathan,   61,   64,   100, 

144,  227,  268. 

Tabard  inn,  3,  4,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10, 

11,  12,  13,  14,  33,  353, 
Tarleton,  Richard,  64. 


Index 


365 


Tassoni's  Secchia  Rapita,  212. 
Tatler,  The,  101,  200,  215,  226, 

233. 
Tearsheet,  Doll,  33. 
Temple  Bar,  75,  84,  196. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord,  84,  85, 

87,  88,  255,  256. 
Thackeray,  W.  M.,  309. 
Thatched  House  tavern,  149, 

150. 
Thomson,  James,  228. 
Three  as  sign  of  London  tav- 
erns, 41,  42. 
Three  Cranes'  Lane,  39. 
Three  Cranes  in  the  Vintry,  39, 

40,  41. 
Three  Nuns  tavem,  42. 
Three  Tuns  tavern,  57. 
Thurlow,  Lord  Chancellor,  150, 

195,  197,  198. 
Tibbs,     Mr.    and    Mrs.,    304, 

305. 
Tickell,  Thomas,  277. 
Till,  William,  208. 
Tom's     coffee-house,     Birchm 

Lane,  180. 
Tom's     coffee-house,     Covent 

Garden,  208,  209. 
"  Tom  Jones,"  69,  70. 
Tonson,  Jacob,  244,  245,  246, 

248. 
Tooke,  Home,  106. 
Torre,  339,  341. 
Totenhall  Court,  154. 
Turk's  Head  coffee-house,  235. 
Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  119. 
Tyers,  Jonathan,  296,  297,  299, 

309,  335,  337. 
Tyers,  Tom,  309. 

"  Vanity  Fair,"  309. 

Vauxhall,  83,  230,  291-311; 
plan  of,  299;  Rotunda  at, 
300;  attractions  of,  300,  301, 
307;  supper  party  at,  301- 
304;   closing  of,  309. 

Vernon,  Admiral,  118,  119. 

Vittoria,  victory  of,  308. 

Voltaire,  119. 


Wales,  Prince  of  (George  IV), 
228,  232,  279,  280,  286. 

Walker's  "  The  Original,"  267. 

Walpole,  Horace,  76,  119,  143, 
204,  205,  206,  223,  230,  252, 
275,  317,  318,  319,  321. 

Walton's,  Isaac,  "  Complete 
Angler,"  93. 

Ward,  Ned,  244,  282. 

Warren,  Sir  William,  142. 

Warwick,  Countess  of,  215. 

Washington,  George,  106. 

Washington,  Purser,  142,  143. 

Waterman's  Arms  tavern,  350. 

''Webb,  Young,"  232. 

Weller,  Sar     '^^    29. 

Welling  aKe  of,  308. 

Weltzl.  o  Club,  286,  287. 

West,  Captain  Thomas,  209. 

Westminster  taverns  and  cof- 
fee-houses, 234,  235. 

"  Wet  Paper  Club,"  264. 

Wheatley,  Henry  B.,  74,  283. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  200, 
268,  269,  271,  272,  273,  274, 
275,  278. 

White  Conduit    House,     341- 

345 
White  Hart  inn,  24,  25,  26,  27, 

28   29. 
White  Hart  inn,  Bishopsgate 

Street  Within,  47,  48. 
White  Horse  Cellar,  152,  153. 
"  White,  Mary,  or  the  Murder 

at  the  Old  Tabard,"  14. 
Wildman's  coffee-house,  205. 
"  Wilkes  and  Liberty,"  196. 
Wilkes,  John,  119. 
William  III,  115,  120,  173. 
William,  King,  statue  of,  38. 
Wilson,     "  Long-Bow, "     265, 

266.  ^  ,1     o 

Will's  coffee-house.  Belle  Sau- 

vage  yard,  193,  194. 
Will's     coffee-house,     Covent 

Garden,  200,  209,  210,  211, 

213,  215,  216,  217  . 

"  Will    Waterproof's     Lyncal 

Monologue,"  85,  86,  87. 


366 


Index 


Windmill  tavern,  58,  59. 
Wittengamot    Club,   264,   265, 

266. 
Wolcot,  John,  "  Peter  Pindar," 

129,  130. 
Wren,  Sir  Christopher,  66. 


Wright,  Thomas,  31. 
Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas,  75,  76. 

Yarmouth,  Lady,  319. 
York,  Duke  of,  20,  142,  308. 
Young,  Edward,  250,  271. 


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